


Red Road

by LilyThistle



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Kidnapping, Mutual Pining, Serial Killers, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:34:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 39,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23808472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyThistle/pseuds/LilyThistle
Summary: It seems like a straightforward case - a murdered woman found in a park, clues pointing to a jealous lover. But it soon becomes obvious that a serial killer who hasn't killed anyone in two years is back. And Jane is too preoccupied with Red John to be of much help. Luckily, a journalist who has done extensive research on the killer is offering his assistance.Meanwhile, Lisbon is trying to come to terms with her growing feelings for Jane while giving him space, and Jane knows he's in love with Lisbon, but does everything he can not to acknowledge it because he knows it wouldn't be fair to her as long as Red John is still alive.But then Lisbon is abducted by the serial killer and Jane, the only person who could save her, is framed for murder.
Relationships: Patrick Jane/Teresa Lisbon
Comments: 47
Kudos: 69





	1. Robes Covered in Mud

**Author's Note:**

> So this is loosely based on (or more like inspired by) my favourite Mentalist episode ever (Blinking Red Light, let's be honest, it should be a 2-hour-movie, it has the range) and my favourite bad guy (Tommy Volker, who doesn't have any range at all, he's just evil). It's set somewhere between Cheap Burgundy and Red Rover, Red Rover.
> 
> I'm planning on adding a new chapter every Thursday, three chapters are already completed and I'm currently working on Chapter 4. It's a bit angsty and there's lots of pining, but don't worry, there will be a happy ending.

Lisbon shielded her eyes with one hand as she walked down the slopes of River Walk Park. The sun was rising, making it hard for her to see the group of people standing at the waterfront. Around her, the trees were sprouting the first green leaves of spring, and she could hear a bird sing, perched on a nearby branch. But when she finally reached her colleagues and saw what they were dealing with, her thoughts couldn’t linger on the nice weather.

“Morning,” she greeted them, already preoccupied with the task at hand.

The police officers glanced quickly at her, making sure she wasn’t a bystander trying to get a better look.

They were all gathered around the body of a slim, dark-haired woman in her early forties. Her neck was covered in bruises, she was only wearing a bathrobe and pink slippers, and her hair was neatly brushed back. The bathrobe was dirty at the hem, as if it had been dragged through mud. Apart from that, she appeared to be in the process of getting ready for the day – if she hadn’t been dead.

“All right, what have we got?” Lisbon asked with a sigh, raising her eyes to look at Rigsby.

“Her name is Cristal Giffard, she is a local woman,” Rigsby started summarizing the situation, handing Lisbon a driver’s license. Lisbon glanced briefly at the smiling face looking up at her. “A woman walking her dog found her about an hour ago.”

“But she wasn’t killed here?” Lisbon asked, handing Rigsby back the driver’s license.

“We don’t think so, at least judging by her outfit,” Rigsby answered, “but the license was in her bathrobe pocket.”

Lisbon bent down to get a closer look at the corpse, regarding the slippers thoughtfully. “Maybe she drove here, dressed like this?” she prompted. “Why would she have her license in her pocket if she wasn’t using her car?”

“The thing is, she was reported missing two weeks ago.” Van Pelt appeared next to Rigsby, reading something off her phone screen. “Someone had broken into her flat in the middle of the night, or at least that's what Sac P.D. assumed at the time. There were signs of a struggle when her fiancé came to check on her the next day. He reported her missing.”

Lisbon sighed again. “And I’m guessing since Sac P.D. was unable to locate her in time, it’s now up to us to figure out what happened to her in those two weeks and how she ended up here.”

“Yes,” Van Pelt confirmed.

“Then let’s go and talk to the fiancé,” Lisbon decided. “Do we have a name for him?”

Rigsby checked his notes. “Royston Winship.”

“So that’s why it’s our business,” Lisbon said, recognizing the name. “I’m surprised the CBI wasn’t called when she went missing. We usually get the case as soon as a member of the City Council is involved.”

“Apparently they weren’t _too_ concerned by her disappearance,” Van Pelt said with a grimace. “She sometimes vanished for a week or two, just to appear in some hotel room in Las Vegas. It was only because there were shards on the floor when Winship checked on her that he even called the police.”

“What about her other family apart from her fiancé? Any relatives we should contact?” Lisbon wanted to know.

“Her parents died several years ago, but she has two brothers. They both live out of state though,” Van Pelt answered.

“What about work?”

“She worked as a PA for the editor-in-chief of the _California Observer_.”

“Must be a nice employer if he let her take off spontaneously for several weeks at a time.” Lisbon was surprised. From what Van Pelt had said, she had taken the victim as a spoiled society girl or a housewife at best.

Van Pelt shrugged.

“All right,” Lisbon said, turning her back to the woman on the ground, addressing Rigsby and Van Pelt directly, “Van Pelt, go back to the office and see if you can reconstruct the last day before she went missing. Rigsby, I want you to pay the _California Observer_ a visit, see what you can find out about her, friends, enemies, you know the drill. Take Cho with you.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Rigsby nodded. He waved to Cho who had, up until that moment, been talking to one the police officers.

“I’ll finish up here, and then I’m gonna go and talk to the fiancé,” Lisbon went on. “We’ll meet up later at the office.”

Rigsby, Van Pelt, and Cho said their goodbyes and Lisbon walked over to the police officers to see if there was something her colleagues had missed. But before she could start to question them, she heard a familiar voice calling good morning.

“Jane,” she said, turning around again to welcome the newcomer. “Nice of you to drop by.”

“No need to give me that look,” Jane said, and Lisbon tried to put on a neutral face. “Where is everyone?”

“Doing their jobs, something you’ve been neglecting lately.”

“I had some things to take care of … personal stuff,” Jane offered as an explanation. He looked at the dead woman at their feet. “So, what’s this about?”

Lisbon suppressed a sigh, knowing Jane would only tell her to cheer up if she gave her report sounding annoyed. When she didn’t answer immediately, he still said, “Oh, cheer up, Lisbon, it’s such a beautiful spring morning.”

“There’s a woman lying dead here,” Lisbon pointed out.

“Yes, that is unfortunate.” Jane put on a concerned look. “She looks like you.”

“She does not,” Lisbon protested with a snort.

Jane looked at Lisbon, his head slightly tilted to the side. “I don’t know about that. You’re the same height, you both have dark hair, and you’re about the same age.”

“Lots of people are my age,” Lisbon retorted, slowly losing patience with Jane.

“Well, I guess you’re right, she dresses _very_ differently from you,” Jane said with a shrug.

Lisbon tugged at the blazer she was wearing, straightening it. “Anything else? Anything that might help us solve the case?”

Jane leaned down, getting ready to do what he did best. “She wasn’t killed here; she was strangled somewhere else and then dumped here.”

“Way ahead of you,” Lisbon interrupted, feeling proud she could tell him something he didn’t already know. “Her name is Cristal Giffard, she is the fiancée of Royston Winship, and she was abducted two weeks ago from her apartment.”

“Well, I was getting there, but thank you for filling me in,” Jane said with a smirk.

Lisbon felt her heart skip a beat. He had tricked her into telling him everything they had already found out. “If you have nothing to add here …”

“There’s a lot more to her than that.” Jane turned his attention back to the woman on the ground. He squatted next to her to get a closer look. “Her fingernails are freshly painted, her hair was dyed a couple of days ago, and she smells like grapefruit.”

“So you don’t think she was abducted?” Lisbon tried to clarify.

“I don’t know about you, Lisbon, but when I’m abducted, I don’t sit around and paint my nails while I wait to be rescued. What makes you think she was abducted?”

“Her fiancé went to visit her and found signs of a struggle, shards on the floor and so on. That’s why he reported her missing.”

“Hm,” Jane made. “It’s more likely she went away with her lover. Let me guess, she has a history of disappearing for several days without anyone knowing where she is.”

“Yes, how did you know?” After all these years, Lisbon was still impressed with Jane’s skill to read a person’s whole story just by looking at them for a couple of seconds.

“Please, a woman like her? Being the fiancée of a member of the City Council can be very boring, especially if you embrace and enjoy life as fully as she did.”

“What makes you think she enjoyed her life?”

“Trips to Vegas, rooftop parties, weekends spent wine tasting … that’s what people do who are full of life.”

“And you can see all this from …?” Lisbon nodded at the corpse.

“It’s all there when you know where to look.” Jane sounded preoccupied, as if there was still more to observe and he was focusing on that.

Lisbon, however, wasn’t done with their conversation yet. “Where would I need to look exactly if I wanted to see that?”

“You’re a woman, Lisbon. Don’t tell me you’ve never looked at a women’s magazine.”

“Oh, and you have?”

“They’re very educational,” Jane said gravely. “Only last week I read a spread about a woman called Cristal Giffard, fiancée to Royston Winship, and her appearance at an exclusive rooftop party to celebrate the grand re-opening of the Crocker Art Museum.”

Lisbon shook her head.

“I had you fooled for a few seconds, admit it.” Jane smirked at her again.

“You’re impossible.”

“As was Miss Giffard,” Jane continued. “I’m certain she had a lover. And when we find him, we’ll also find her killer.”

“You think her lover murdered her?”

“Or the fiancé, I’d say the chances are about fifty-fifty.”

“Do you want to bet?”

“With odds like that? Nah. They’d have to be at least seventy-thirty, so I’m sure I’ll come out on top. And this case is too straightforward for me to waste money on anyway.”

“I’m sorry I can’t offer you something more interesting,” Lisbon said, starting to feel irritated again.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Lisbon, it’s not as if you’re not trying.”

“I’m going to talk to the fiancé now,” Lisbon announced, ignoring Jane’s last remark. “But since you’re almost sure he’s our prime suspect, I won’t bore you with asking you to come along.”

“Where does he live?” Jane wanted to know.

Lisbon was thrown off by the question. “Granite Bay.”

“I’ll come with you. I have something to pick up there.”

“No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t,” Jane admitted, “but I wanted you to wonder what it could be.”

“I couldn’t care less,” Lisbon informed him. “I’m just quickly gonna finish up here. Meet me at the car.”

“We should really take my car,” Jane pointed out. “It fits in much nicer in a place like Granite Bay.”

“Yes, if you want us to get arrested before we reach Winship’s house.” She quickly walked over to where the police officers were still standing before Jane could say anything else.


	2. Second Hand News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane and Lisbon visit the victim's fiancé who seems to be innocent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, I know I said I would update once a week but I've written more than 20,000 words so far, and I'm way too excited for you guys to get to the good parts where Jane and Lisbon ... "hold hands" and stuff.

Granite Bay was located at the shores of Folsom Lake. While they drove past mansions hidden behind high walls, they could sometimes see the waterfront through the pine trees adjacent to the properties. Lisbon had seen her fair share of rich people’s houses, but every time she drove through such a neighborhood, she caught herself staring.

She and Jane had spent most of the forty minutes it had taken them to drive from Sacramento to Granite Bay in silence. This was how they usually spent their car journeys. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence that longed to be filled by nonsensical words. Instead, they felt comfortable enough in each other’s presence to dwell on their own thoughts.

Lisbon’s were preoccupied with the case. She thought Jane had a point – it looked straightforward. A woman, bored with her dead-end job and her important fiancé, looked for something or _someone_ to take up her time – either she had made the wrong decision choosing her lover or her future husband. Lisbon was sure there was a lot of jealousy involved.

But she was also discontent with what they had come up with so far. Too many things, in her opinion, didn’t add up, and she was surprised Jane hadn’t picked up on them yet. Or maybe he had, but had decided to keep this to himself, as he so often did. He always kept his cards close to his chest, even if it meant sending them all on a wild goose chase. It was just like Jane to have them guessing until the very end, then pull out an explanation hinged on a detail they had missed, clearing everything up with so much panache that Lisbon was impressed every time. Impressed and proud.

“Indulge me,” she said, carefully turning a corner and slowly driving past a group of children playing at the side of the road. “If Giffard was murdered by her lover or her jealous fiancé, how did her body end up by the side of the river?”

Jane, who had sat slumped against the window, shifted in his seat, coming out of his own deep thoughts only slowly. “Hm?” he made.

“The body,” Lisbon repeated slowly, “how did it end up by the side of the river?”

“That’s for the killer to know and for us to find out,” Jane answered.

“I don’t know,” Lisbon sighed. “I think there might be more to this case.”

“I hope you’re right.” Jane stifled a yawn.

“Am I boring you?” Lisbon wanted to know.

“Long night,” Jane offered as an explanation.

“Hm,” Lisbon made, checking the GPS to make sure they were still on the right track.

Jane looked out the window, his arms wrapped around his body, and yawned again. “So, what do we know about this Winship character?”

“Oh, I’m not falling for that again,” Lisbon denied him an answer. “You can do your own research. I’m not gonna be there forever to tell you all you need to know, so you don’t have to put in any kind of effort.”

“Keep your secrets then. I already know that he’s going to be a stuck-up politician who’ll think it beneath him to answer us a couple of questions so we can catch whoever murdered his fiancée.”

“Isn’t he the prime suspect, according to you?”

“If he is, he’s gonna be even more insufferable because he’s hiding something.”

“We’ll soon know if you’re right,” Lisbon said, nodding towards a house ahead of them. “We’re here.”

They were driving up a hill toward a two-storied mansion set back from the street and protected by a solid wall topped by spikes. A heavy iron gate prevented them from going any further, and Lisbon had to stop the car at the side of road, get out, and press a button on a small metal box next to the gate. While she waited for someone to answer her, she took a long look at the house they were about to visit. From where she was standing, she could see a graveled path leading to the front door, but the door itself was hidden behind a tree. The path sloped around it, so a car wouldn’t have to turn when leaving. It was easy to see that the people who lived here had _a lot_ of money, which, she guessed, couldn’t all have come from Winship’s work.

“Yes?” A man had finally answered the doorbell.

“Hello,” Lisbon said, making sure to speak clearly. “My name is Agent Teresa Lisbon, I’m with the California Bureau of Investigation. I would like to speak to Mr. Winship.”

Instead of an answer, there was a buzzing sound and the iron gate began to open slowly. Lisbon scurried back to the car and started it again.

Next to her, Jane huffed. “Told you he would be insufferable.”

“You haven’t even met the man yet,” Lisbon said, steering the car through the open gate and up the driveway.

“I’ve seen his house,” Jane answered, glaring at the building in front of them.

Lisbon parked the car by the front door. “You know, no one forced you to come. And it might have been better if you'd stayed in Sacramento if you’re gonna be like this the whole time.”

Jane didn’t answer, but pushed open the passenger door, got out of the car, and stretched. Lisbon, meanwhile, checked that she had her gun and badge before following Jane. Then she went past Jane up the stairs to the front door, where a man in a black suit was waiting for them.

“I’m Agent Lisbon, with the CBI,” Lisbon introduced herself again. “And this is Patrick Jane, a consultant.”

The man looked them over before saying, “Mr. Winship is still in a meeting, but you are welcome to wait for him in the library.”

Jane rolled his eyes when he was sure only Lisbon could see him, and Lisbon gestured him to be quiet. The butler led them into a room which could only be described as an entrance hall. But there wasn’t much time to look around because they were immediately ushered into another room which, as Lisbon was not surprised to discover, was indeed a library with tall shelves filled with books and a real fireplace with comfortable armchairs in front of it.

“Can I get you anything while you wait?” the butler asked.

“No, thank you,” Lisbon declined at the same time as Jane said, “Tea would be nice.”

The butler nodded and vanished, leaving them to make themselves comfortable. While Lisbon looked at the books and checked the view from the window, Jane sat down in one of the armchairs and began leafing through a pile of papers on a small table next to it. Lisbon glanced at him from time to time to make sure he didn’t do anything he wasn’t supposed to be doing, but when he caught her looking once and winked, she blushed and refrained from spying on him again.

After fifteen minutes, the butler came back with a big silver tray that had a single teacup on it. He put it down on the small table next to Jane’s chair, sweeping up the papers with the other hand in one smooth motion.

“Thank you,” Jane said, and the butler left again.

“He’s taking his time,” Lisbon said, glancing out of the window, so her back was turned to Jane.

She heard Jane pick up the teacup and take a sip. In the silence of the library, every sound seemed heightened.

“What was in those papers?” Lisbon asked, not because she was particularly interested, but because this conversation would be something to pass the time with.

Jane sat down the cup. “Just contracts, pretty boring stuff.”

“No contract for a hitman to get rid of an unwanted fiancée?” Lisbon teased, but before Jane could answer, the door opened again, and Lisbon whipped around.

A man had entered the library. He was about Lisbon’s age, his temples were graying, and his hair was thin at the top. He was wearing an expensive-looking suit, but sneakers on his feet, which stood in stark contrast to the rest of his appearance. His face was wrinkled with concern, and when he walked toward them, she could see he was hunching his shoulders slightly.

Lisbon approached him, glancing quickly at Jane, who hadn’t moved from his chair, but sat there with his legs crossed, looking at the newcomer with mild interest. Did Winship look like Jane had imagined him? Lisbon, on her part, had expected a different man.

“Mr. Winship, I’m Agent Lisbon,” Lisbon began to introduce herself again, but was interrupted.

“I know who you are. Have you found her?”

“Yes, sir.” Lisbon put on her best 'sorry for your loss'-face. “I’m afraid we have bad news.”

Winship took a deep breath. “Is she dead?”

Lisbon nodded. “She was found this morning in River Walk Park. It appears she was strangled.”

Lisbon wasn’t as good at reading people as Jane, but she could recognize real grief when she saw it, and Winship looked devastated. His shoulders hunched even more, and his bottom lip trembled as prepared to ask his next question.

“Do you know what happened to her?”

Before Lisbon could answer, Jane jumped out of his chair and took two quick steps, so he was standing in front of Winship. “Mr. Winship, did you kill your wife?” he asked before Lisbon could stop him.

“She was my fiancée,” Winship corrected him.

“Is that a yes?”

“And who are you?” Winship asked. Lisbon noticed the vulnerability had gone from his face, his expression had hardened, and there was a fire in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“Sorry about him, he’s -,” Lisbon began the standard apology she used when she had to stop people from punching Jane.

“Patrick Jane,” Jane interrupted her, introducing himself, “and you are completely innocent.”

“I should think so,” Winship spat, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Lisbon started again. “Mr. Jane is a consultant with the CBI. His methods are a bit unconventional, but effective.”

Jane shrugged and took a step back, leaning against one of the armchairs. Even though he had proclaimed to believe in Winship’s innocence, he continued to watch him closely.

“Yes, it’s very effective to accuse the grieving widower,” Winship said. It sounded sarcastic.

“I thought she was just your fiancée,” Jane interjected. 

“Jane!” Lisbon said, a warning in her voice.

“Do you know how unlikely it is that your fiancée was killed by a random stranger? Usually, women are murdered by someone close to them,” Jane continued, not paying any attention to Lisbon.

Lisbon moved so she was standing in front of Jane, between him and Winship. “Please ignore him,” she said. “We just need to ask you a couple of standard questions, like where you were last night between midnight and three in the morning?”

Winship looked quickly from Lisbon to Jane and back again. “I’m sorry; you come here to inform me that my fiancée is dead, then you insult me, and proceed to suspect me of murder? I don’t think I’ll be cooperating with you.”

“Please, Mr. Winship, these are just questions we ask everyone who was close to Miss Giffard,” Lisbon tried to appease him. “But Mr. Jane is right, people usually get murdered by someone close to them.”

“Was your fiancée having an affair?” Jane asked from behind Lisbon’s back.

Winship took a step toward them, and Lisbon immediately put up her hands in a defensive gesture. “Of course she wasn’t having an affair,” he answered through clenched teeth.

“Would you know if she was though?” Jane continued. “You didn’t even live together.”

Lisbon got ready to hold Winship back, but her opposite suddenly looked like a deflated balloon, the lines on his face standing out even more. He sighed deeply and walked past them to the armchair Jane had occupied earlier. He sat down, crossed his hands in his lap, and looked at them with big, sad eyes.

“No, she wasn’t having an affair,” he repeated. “We didn’t live together because she didn’t want to.”

“I’m sorry to say, sir, but Mr. Jane has a point. How do you know she wasn’t having an affair when she didn’t even want to live with you, even though you were engaged?”

“Cristal is very independent … was independent,” Winship continued. “After we got engaged, she continued to work as a PA, even though I have enough money. I told her she didn’t need to be working, but she said she wanted to earn her own money. She didn’t want to be dependent on a man. That’s also the reason why she continued to live in the city. She needed her own space.”

“Then why get engaged at all?” Lisbon probed.

“We still loved each other, even though we didn’t share everything. Maybe we loved each other _because_ of that. People don’t have to live together to be close to each other.”

Lisbon felt Jane shift behind her, and hoped she wasn’t about to say something insulting again, but he only nodded, implying they were still listening.

“She was planning on moving in here with me after the wedding, and she was looking forward to it. That’s also why I’m convinced she wasn’t having an affair. I trusted her.”

“Fair enough,” Jane murmured.

“What can you tell us about the day she vanished?” Lisbon asked next.

“We had a lunch date, but she didn’t show up,” Winship began recounting the events of that day. “I called her phone several times, but she never picked up. I even called her work and they told me she hadn’t been in that day, so I went to her apartment.”

“Was it unusual for her to vanish like that?”

Winship pulled a grimace. “I know what you’re getting at. No, it wasn’t unusual, she did that from time to time, but I never worried about her before because I trusted her.”

“Then why were you worried?” Jane interjected.

“It was just a feeling, really,” Winship replied with a non-committal shrug. “When she went on one of her trips, she would inform her employer that she wasn’t coming in for a couple of days, but they had told me they hadn’t heard from her.”

“So you went to check on her,” Lisbon filled in. “And what did you find?”

“I have a key to her apartment, so I let myself in. She wasn’t there. I had tried ringing the doorbell first, of course.”

“And there were no signs of a forced entry?” Lisbon wanted to know.

“None,” Winship confirmed.

“Then why did you call the police?”

“I found some shards, from a broken plate or a vase or something,” Winship went on. “It looked like a struggle to me.”

Next to Lisbon, Jane snorted but didn't say anything.

“Did your fiancée have any enemies? Maybe someone at work who was after her job?” Lisbon asked. She knew she was reaching, but since Winship was convinced that Giffard hadn’t been having an affair, troubles in the workplace was the next logical conclusion.

Winship had to smile. “No one would have been after her job. She was a PA for ten years with no chance of promotion. I’m sorry to say, but she wasn’t the best at what she was doing. Nevertheless, she was well-liked by most of her colleagues.”

“Most?” Jane asked.

“Ulyssa Westbrook,” Winship answered. “She works as a journalist for the _California Observer_. They didn’t get along. I think Miss Westbrook didn’t like Cristal’s careless attitude when it came to her work. But I don’t think she disliked her enough to kill her.”

“We will have a talk with Miss Westbrook,” Lisbon informed him. “Is there anything else that might be important for us to know?”

Winship thought about this, then shook his head.

“If you do remember that your fiancée had a lover, please let us know,” Jane said.

Lisbon glared at him. “Thank you for your time, sir,” she said to distract from Jane. “If you remember anything else, just give us a call.”

“You will catch the man who did this, won’t you?” Winship asked.

“We’ll do our best, sir,” Lisbon assured him.

* * *

“Did you hear him?” Jane asked immediately after they were back in the car. “The _man_ who did this?”

“You’re just disappointed he’s not good for it,” Lisbon said.

“Yes, he doesn’t seem like the guy who would strangle his girlfriend,” Jane agreed. “He isn't very passionate.”

“Why did you provoke him like that?” Lisbon wanted to know. “Even I could see he was grieving.”

“I needed to be sure,” Jane answered. “Some people are very good actors. Especially proud people like Winship. I needed to hit him where it hurt most to get him to talk.”

“He almost hit you,” Lisbon reminded him.

“That would have been a sure sign of his guilt and you could have arrested him then and there.”

Lisbon called Cho, telling him to pick up Ulyssa Westbrook, so they could talk to her. When she hung up, she had to stifle a yawn. She had wished for an easy and straightforward case for a change, but her gut feeling from earlier had proven to be right – things were more complicated than they had seemed to be.

“Do you still think she had a lover?”

Jane seemed to seriously consider the question for a couple of seconds. “No, I don’t think so,” he answered finally.

“So we’re back to the start,” Lisbon concluded.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Jane contradicted her. “She was abducted by someone she must have known well, hence no sign of a forced entry. Someone she let in late at night or early in the morning. Someone who had known her disappearance wouldn’t seem suspicious, at least not for a couple of days, leaving enough time to do whatever he wanted to her.”

“He? You’re also convinced it’s a man?”

“Of course it’s a man, she was strangled after all.”

“Abducting her just to strangle her?”

“No, he did more to her. Remember her nails and her hair?”

Lisbon had to shudder. “What are you implying?”

“Come on, Lisbon, I’m not doing all your work for you,” Jane said with a smirk.

“No, you’re doing the opposite. You’re trying to confuse me.”

“I would never do such a thing.” Jane sounded offended, but there was a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. “I’m sorry my presence is confusing you so much you can't focus on the case.”

“Oh haha,” Lisbon laughed dryly. “Your presence doesn’t bother me, just don’t open your mouth.”

“Don’t worry, Lisbon, you’re on your own from here on out anyway. I have an appointment this afternoon. If you could drop me off at the park …”

Lisbon rolled her eyes, but she knew better than to argue with him. She also knew better than to ask where he was going. Disappearances like this had been happening more often since Jane had convinced everyone Red John was dead. Lisbon had no idea what Jane got up to when he said he had _appointments_ , and she also hadn’t asked him because she knew that he would only make a snarky remark, but he wouldn’t tell her the truth. She had to trust him that he would confide in her before he did something stupid.

Lisbon dropped Jane off at the park without complaint. He wished her a good day, got into his car and drove off. Lisbon sighed as she watched him go, then turned her own car around and drove back to the office while mulling over the conversation with Winship in her head.

* * *

The first thing Lisbon did back at the office was to pour herself a large cup of coffee. Then she went to talk to Van Pelt. Cho and Rigsby hadn’t yet returned from the _California Observer_ and Lisbon was glad because she needed a break. However, talking to Van Pelt thwarted her plans for a slow afternoon.

“Hey, boss,” Van Pelt said, with a look on her face she always got when she had bad news.

“So, how did Miss Giffard spend her last day?” Lisbon asked, hoping Van Pelt had only discovered some inconsistency in the timeline.

“I’m still waiting for Cho and Rigsby to fill in some gaps,” Van Pelt answered, “but there’s something else I found which, I think, we shouldn’t ignore.”

Lisbon didn’t like where this was going. “And what’s that?”

“Have you heard of the Red Road Killer?” Van Pelt asked.

“Don’t tell me it’s another serial killer,” Lisbon said, pulling up a chair and dropping into it. “I think we’ve had enough of those.”

“Yes,” Van Pelt said with a forced smile, “he is a serial killer. At least he is one now if it turns out that Giffard was one of his victims.”

“How many others were there, so far?”

“Without Giffard, two,” Van Pelt answered. “Two women in their early forties, dark hair, slim build, just like Giffard. Both were found dressed in bathrobes, strangled. But the last case happened two years ago, that’s why I didn’t immediately think of him.”

“So you’re saying this is the work of this Red Road Killer?” Lisbon wanted to clarify.

“I’m not entirely sure yet. It’s the driver’s license that’s bothering me. The other two victims were Jane Does at first. But with Giffard, we knew immediately who she was.”

“Who were the other two victims?”

“One was a housewife from San Francisco, Beth Waldroup, the other one a shop owner form Fresno, Yadira Cuesta. As far as I can tell, there’s nothing connecting them. They never met, they didn’t share any friends or family, and they led very different lives. However, they were murdered within the span of a couple of months. Then nothing for two years.”

Lisbon rubbed her eyes and proceeded to gulp down half of her cup of coffee. “We should go and talk to the families of the victims. See what they can tell us.”

“Cuesta doesn’t have any living relatives, but I’m gonna see if I can find an address for Waldroup’s family,” Van Pelt informed her.

“Could you also get me all the information we have on the previous two cases? Who was leading the investigation?”

“Local police.”

“I will go talk to the people who were in charge back then,” Lisbon decided. “When Cho and Rigsby get back, give them an update on the case. Tomorrow morning, we’re going to San Francisco to talk to Waldroup’s family.”

Van Pelt nodded as a sign that she had understood Lisbon.

“Just one more question – why Red Road Killer?”

“The first victim was found on Lombard Street in San Francisco,” Van Pelt answered. “After the second victim, a newspaper started using the name and the killer got stuck with it, I guess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might ask yourself now, "Didn't she say in the beginning they would hold hands?" I sure did, but this is my first Mentalist fanfic and I have to get used to the characters first :/ but don't worry, we'll get there eventually.


	3. Signs of Injustice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A journalist who is reporting on the Red Road Killer meets with Lisbon to offer them his help with the case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought it would be hard to write from Jane's POV but he's actually much easier to write than Lisbon ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

“Morning, Lisbon.”

Lisbon jumped slightly when she heard Jane’s voice. She hadn’t expected to find him in her office, lying on the couch, looking as if he had just woken up from a nap.

“Don’t you have your own couch?” she asked, putting her bag on her desk and then slipped out of her jacket.

“It’s too loud in the bullpen,” Jane sighed.

“We’re not paying you to sleep.”

“I’m not sleeping,” Jane corrected her. Then added, “Van Pelt told me about the serial killer, and I think she’s right.”

“I know she is,” Lisbon said. “I went and spoke with the husband of the first victim yesterday. It was the same with her. She vanished from their house without a trace and without any signs of a forced entry, only to appear two weeks later, murdered.”

“Huh,” Jane made and sat up.

Lisbon started her computer, but before she could tell Jane any more about what she had learned during her visit to San Francisco the previous day, there was a knock at the open door. Both she and Jane looked up to see a strange man standing there. He had dark hair, a stubble, and was wearing a sweater over a shirt and dark jeans. In one hand he was holding an old leather satchel, in the other a mobile phone. He seemed to be the same height as Jane, but his shoulders were slumped, just like Winship’s. Lisbon hoped he wasn’t another grieving relative, maybe one of Giffard’s brothers. She wasn’t good at dealing with those before she’d had at least one cup of coffee. Then again, a grieving relative wouldn’t smile at her so brightly.

“Yes, can I help you?” she asked the newcomer.

“Excuse me, I’m looking for Agent Lisbon,” the man said.

“Yes, that’s me,” Lisbon said. “What can I do for you?”

“My name is David Stapleton, I’m a journalist with the _California Observer_ ,” the man introduced himself. “Miss Giffard was my colleague.”

“Oh,” Lisbon made. “Please, come in.” She indicated the chairs in front of her desk.

Stapleton stepped into the office and sat down in the one closest to the door. He briefly glanced over his shoulder at Jane but didn’t acknowledge his presence other than that.

“How can I help you?” Lisbon asked, sitting down herself.

“It’s about the case,” Stapleton began slowly.

“Yes, I thought as much.” Lisbon smiled at him, trying to be encouraging. She knew it wasn’t always easy for people to talk to law enforcement.

“I didn’t work with Cristal much,” Stapleton went on. “I just knew she was working in the same office, but I didn’t interact with her, apart from saying hello. But I do believe I have information that could be of interest to you.”

Lisbon nodded. “Did you speak to my colleagues yesterday?” she wanted to know. Some people spoke with Cho, Rigsby or Van Pelt but felt their stories were only heard when talking to someone higher up.

“No, I did not. As I’ve said, I didn’t work closely with Cristal. But I am working closely on the Red Road Killer case.”

Lisbon sat up straighter, propping up her elbows on her desk. Jane shifted ever so slightly on the couch. They were both waiting for Stapleton to continue.

“It is him, isn’t it?” Stapleton tried to get a confirmation. “My sources in Sac P.D. tell me it is. And from what I know about the case, they are right.”

Lisbon made a mental note to file a complaint about Sac P.D. disclosing information about an ongoing investigation to journalists, but she didn’t tell Stapleton so because she wanted to hear what he had to say first.

“I mostly do judicial stories, murders, thefts, trials and so on,” Stapleton continued. “And two years ago, when the Red Road Killer appeared on the scene for the first time, it was me who gave him his name. Ever since then, I’ve done my own research, partly to do the victims justice, partly to point out shortcomings in our law enforcement system that let the killer get away.” Now that Stapleton had their attention, he talked with much more confidence, sure he held his audience spellbound with his story. During a brief pause in his account, he opened his leather satchel and pulled out a file. “This is all the information I have collected over the years. I spoke to the families of the victims, I compared the case to other famous serial killers, I talked to profilers and forensic psychologists and put together a profile of the man who’s behind it.”

“Be careful, Lisbon, or this man is gonna put you out of a job.” It was the first time Jane had spoken.

The sound of his voice made Stapleton whip around in his chair, as if he had forgotten he wasn’t alone with Lisbon.

“Patrick Jane, hi,” Jane said with a small wave of his hand. “I’m here because I’m also very interested in this case.”

“Ignore him, he works here,” Lisbon corrected him.

“I know who you are,” Stapleton said, turning fully to Jane, ignoring Lisbon. “You don’t get to become an expert in serial killers without stumbling across Red John sooner or later.”

There was an almost imperceptible twitch in Jane’s face at the mention of Red John’s name. Lisbon noticed she was holding her breath and released it at the same time as Jane’s smile returned to his face.

“If you’re thinking I’m going to give you an interview about him, then I’ll have to disappoint you,” he said. “He’s dead, and it’s best to let him stay buried.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not here for that, I’m just here to offer my help,” Stapleton assured him. “You might be an expert on Red John, but I know all about the Red Road Killer.”

“Do you also know how we can catch him?” Jane challenged.

“I believe that’s your job,” Stapleton replied, a warm smile on his face. “My job is to inform the public about the work you’re doing here.”

“Hold on a minute,” Lisbon put an end to the conversation between Jane and Stapleton. “Are you’re saying you want to write about us trying to catch the Red Road Killer? Because you can’t do that as long as the investigation is still ongoing. We have very strict guidelines for things like this.”

“I’m all too familiar with these guidelines, believe me,” Stapleton said, turning back around, so he was facing Lisbon again. “I’ll only write about this case once you’ve caught him, but that’s my one condition if you want my help. I get exclusive rights to this story in exchange for my information.”

“Lisbon on the cover of the _California Observer_? I might even buy a copy,” Jane tossed in.

“Shush,” Lisbon said, but this time Stapleton didn’t let himself be distracted by Jane and kept his eyes on Lisbon. “Can I look at your file before I decide if we want your help?”

“Be my guest,” Stapleton said, handing it over to Lisbon.

She took it from him and began to leaf through it, while Jane stood up, walked around her desk, and looked over her shoulder at the papers. He put one hand on Lisbon’s desk and leaned down so he could see better, and she held the papers up higher to make deciphering them easier for him.

It was mostly a profile of the killer along with detailed information on the crime scenes, which Stapleton could only have gotten from his sources in the police. There were also transcripts of interviews with friends and relatives, and a couple of paper clippings, articles Stapleton had written about the murders. Lisbon read these with great interest to gain a better impression of the kind of man they were dealing with. She usually didn’t have much time to read newspapers, except for what was necessary for a case, so she couldn’t attest to the quality of his writing, but she liked his style and the way he told the story without the sensationalism she had come to associate with newspapers reporting on the more gruesome parts of society.

“Has he ever contacted you?” Jane asked, his breath brushing Lisbon’s neck, making her shiver slightly.

“No, he hasn’t yet,” Stapleton answered. “I got a call once from a man who I thought might be him, but it turned out to be a prank call.”

“You’ve never written about any of this in one of your articles?” Jane held up the detailed profile of the killer.

“I used some of the information here and there, but most of it is boring and not of great interest to the general public, at least not until he is caught.”

Jane stood up straight and skimmed the profile again. “This is dangerous, what you have here.”

“Jane,” Lisbon said quietly. She knew what he was getting at, and she didn’t want him to start a discussion about his own tragic past with a complete stranger.

Stapleton also seemed to sense where this conversation was going. “His profile is quite different from Red John’s, as you might have noticed. I’m not scared for the safety of my family. After all, I’m not challenging him, I’m just reporting the facts.”

“Journalists have been killed for less,” Jane pointed out. “And what about Miss Giffard? Maybe her death was supposed to be a warning? You’re playing a dangerous game, Mr. Stapleton.”

“I’m doing no such thing, Mr. Jane,” Stapleton corrected him. “I never provoke him; I’m just trying to get a feeling for who he is.”

“What does your wife think about this?” Jane wanted to know, nodding at the wedding band on Stapleton’s left hand.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but my wife is a journalist as well, she’s very supportive of my work.”

“Jane, that’s enough.” Lisbon took the sheet of paper out of Jane’s hand and replaced it in the file. “Thank you for coming to see us, Mr. Stapleton,” she addressed their guest. “This information you’ve gathered is really useful. If it’s all right with you, we would like to consult with you on this case.” She handed him back the file.

“And my condition?” Stapleton asked, taking it from her.

“I cannot promise you an exclusive story. I’ll have to clear that with my boss and our public relation’s officer, but I’ll let you know as soon as I can.”

“Yes, there’s always someone higher up.” Stapleton smiled at Lisbon and Lisbon surprised herself by discovering that she was beginning to like the journalist. “I understand, of course. I’ll await your reply.”

Lisbon returned the smile. “Can I ask you one more thing though? When you said earlier that you’re investigating how law enforcement failed to catch the Red Road Killer, what did you mean by that? I couldn’t find anything in your file.”

“That’s because I’m not stupid enough to leave information lying around that could incriminate me should the police ever come to search our offices,” Stapleton answered.

Jane snorted. “You make it sound as if California is a failed state on the brink of collapse.”

“Our law enforcement system certainly is on the brink of collapse. You of all people should know that, Mr. Jane. The police have yet to catch the Red Road Killer, and they also failed to catch Red John. It was up to you, wasn’t it, to put an end to him?”

“That’s not what I was asking,” Lisbon tried to steer the conversation away from Red John. “I was asking for concrete evidence that corrupt law enforcement officers are preventing the capture of the Red Road Killer.”

“I wouldn’t go as far as saying there are corrupt police officers working together with him. This is about a systematical failure of our judicial system as a whole. People not doing their jobs properly, not following certain leads because it might expose important people, and so on.”

“Huh,” Lisbon made. “Well, Mr. Stapleton, I can assure you that your information is in good hands here. We’re quite the experts on catching serial killers.”

“I know you are, that’s why I came to see you today.” Stapleton stood up and put the file back in his satchel. “I will send you a copy of my notes. If you need my help with anything, you can always reach me on my cellphone.” He handed Lisbon his business card. “I mean it, day and night. I’m also very much interested in bringing the Red Road Killer to justice.”

“Why’s that?” Jane asked. “What’s your connection to the case?”

“No connection, just a pursuit of justice. I mean, it’s sort of personal now after Cristal was killed. But before that, I did it because it’s my job as a journalist; and because there might be a promotion in it for me, if I’m the one to report about his capture exclusively.”

Lisbon glanced at the card. “But you’re already the deputy editor-in-chief.”

“As I’ve said, Agent Lisbon, there’s always someone higher up.” He extended his hand and Lisbon shook it. “It was good to meet you, have a nice day.” He proceeded to shake Jane’s hand as well. “And it was an honor to meet you, sir.”

As soon as he had left, Jane smirked. “This case is much more interesting than I had thought. Now there might be a corrupt police officer murdering women? Even I couldn’t have seen that coming.”

“Where do you always get these ideas from?”

“You really need to listen to people, Lisbon. It was there between the lines.”

Lisbon smiled at him teasingly. “I think there’s lots between the lines that _you’re_ not picking up on.”

“Like what?”

“For one, not everyone who comes here and offers us information about a serial killer is challenging your position at the CBI,” Lisbon answered. “Believe me, no one could replace you.”

“Well, thank you, Lisbon.” Jane seemed genuinely proud. “And don’t worry, I like him, I think we have a lot in common.”

“I like him too,” Lisbon admitted. “It’ll be nice for a change to work with someone who’s genuinely interested in consulting with us.”

“You know there’s nothing I enjoy more than -,” Jane started, but was interrupted by his phone. He pulled it out of his jacket pocket and glanced at the caller ID. “I’m sorry, I really should take this. See you.”

He left Lisbon’s office, picking up the phone with a short, “Hello”. And Lisbon was left wondering what it was Jane enjoyed.

* * *

“Hello,” Jane said.

“Hello, Mr. Jane.” Darcy sounded relieved. “I’m glad you’re finally picking up.”

“Hm,” Jane made.

“Could we meet sometime during the next few days? There are some things we should talk about … about Red John.”

“We’re very busy with a case at the moment,” Jane told her. “I don’t think I’ll have the time.” He walked into the kitchen and put the kettle on, hoping he had managed to get rid of Darcy, but she continued.

“It won’t take long, half an hour at most,” she said. “I could meet you at CBI HQ or we can meet at the FBI offices, whichever is best for you.”

“This week won’t work for me,” Jane repeated. “Maybe next week. There are lives at stake.” He took a teabag from the shelf and put it into his blue cup.

“I know there are, that’s why I’m calling you.” Darcy’s tone of voice changed from friendly but insistent to cold. “I know you’re still angry with me because I accused you of working for Red John, but I really need to ask you some questions we cannot discuss over the phone. So if you could meet me soon, I’d be much obliged.”

Jane poured hot water into the cup, tucking the phone between his ear and shoulder so he could use both hands. “Maybe after this case is over,” he said.

“You know, I could have you be brought in for questioning,” Darcy pointed out. “It’s just out of good will toward you that I’m _asking_ you to meet with me.”

Jane let the phone drop into his hand and raised his voice. “What’s that, Lisbon? Yes, I’ll be right there.” Then he held it up to his ear again. “Sorry, Agent, I’ve got to go, evil never sleeps.” Before Darcy could protest, he flipped the phone shut and put it back into his jacket pocket. He took out the teabag, threw it away, and walked over to his couch.

Before Darcy had called him, he had been trying to evaluate the role the journalist was playing in this case, but the interruption had made him lose his train of thought. It was true what he had told Lisbon – Stapleton seemed like a nice man. Jane didn’t like journalists much, but he appreciated the efforts of people seeking justice. He could identify with their cause.

And he could see why Lisbon would like him. He was outgoing, yet not persistent, he took her and her work seriously, and he had smiled a lot, which was a trait Lisbon appreciated in a man, as Jane knew. If Stapleton hadn’t been married, Jane might have tried to set Lisbon up with him. It would do her good to get out of the office more.

Jane took a sip of his tea, put the cup down next to the couch, and lay down. There was a voice at the back of his mind telling him that he could never stand by and watch Lisbon date another man without feeling jealous and hurt, without thinking – knowing – it should be him by her side, but he smothered that voice immediately. He couldn’t allow himself to think like this, especially not now when the whole world thought Red John was dead and no one was working to bring him to justice anymore. Lisbon shouldn’t have to live in constant fear of an invisible threat that could become very real at any moment.

And she shouldn’t have to live with the shadow residing inside Jane, taking up so much of his thoughts and feelings, steadily pulling him forward. She would have to compete with his lust for revenge and it’s wasn’t fair to her. Better she’d start dating a nice, grounded guy who led a normal life without too much excitement.

Jane hoped he would get to meet Stapleton’s wife soon, so he could determine how happy the marriage was.


	4. Love is Frail and Willing to Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stapleton asks Lisbon to come to a dinner party his newspaper is throwing, and Lisbon asks Jane to come along with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realised I love writing Jane and Lisbon together, so every chapter that's focused on their relationship is really long.

“Miss Westbrook, where were you Monday night between midnight and three in the morning?” Lisbon was sitting in one of the interrogation rooms opposite a woman with bleached hair, who was chewing gum with her mouth open and impatiently tapping her nails against the surface of the desk.

“Why are you asking?” she replied. “I know I’m not a suspect in this case. And, frankly, you’re wasting my time.”

“You’re a suspect as long as I say you are,” Lisbon retorted. “You should really be answering our questions.” She was slowly losing her patience. They had reached a stalemate ten minutes ago – Westbrook refused to answer Lisbon’s questions and Lisbon refused to let her go. It was a question of principle.

Westbrook blew a gum bubble that burst loudly. “I want a lawyer,” she said.

“That is your right, of course, but you’ll be out of here much faster if you cooperate now,” Lisbon said patiently.

Westbrook looked at Cho, who was sitting next to Lisbon, his arms crossed in front of his chest, and repeated, “I want a lawyer.”

Cho didn’t say anything.

Lisbon started again. “We understand you were a colleague of Miss Giffard.”

Westbrook leaned back and crossed her arms in front of her chest, just like Cho. Lisbon wished Jane was here. He hadn’t shown up to work this morning, and this was a habit Lisbon was slowly getting used to. She still thought it better not to ask what he was doing. And they still closed more cases than any other unit, so there really was no cause for complaint. But she knew Jane would take one look at Westbrook and know exactly what to say to get her to talk, whereas she needed to keep her cool. It was really only a matter of formality that they were even talking to Westbrook in the first place. They all knew they should be looking for a serial killer, not pester colleagues of the victim, but Winship had mentioned her specifically, and Lisbon thought it better to anger a couple of journalists than to draw the wrath of a City Council member.

“What if I was?” Westbrook said.

“We know you were.” It was the first time Cho had spoken, and for some reason it startled Westbrook.

“Yes, I was,” she finally confirmed. “But that doesn’t mean I killed her.”

“Then why not cooperate with us?” Lisbon asked.

“I will when you stop asking me where I was Monday night, okay? I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Miss Westbrook, this is a murder investigation,” Lisbon said slowly.

Westbrook took a deep breath. “I was with my boyfriend,” she finally admitted. “But I’d appreciate it if you could keep this quiet. He’s married.”

“Of course he is,” Lisbon murmured. Then, in a louder voice, she asked, “What’s his name?”

“Payton,” Westbrook replied. “Dane. Payton Dane.”

Lisbon made a note of this.

“If you speak to him, could you do it, you know, quietly? We don’t want his wife to find out.”

Lisbon ignored the request. “You were with him the whole night?”

“Yes, I was, his wife was out of town.”

Lisbon nodded, making another note.

“Did you get along with the deceased?” Cho ask in a dry tone of voice.

“I didn’t like her much, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Westbrook answered. “We had our differences. I don’t know who you talked to at the office, but you shouldn’t believe everything you hear. We didn’t get along because I thought she was always preoccupied with things other than work. She lost contact information of people I needed to talk to more than once. And she could do what she wanted, especially after she got engaged to that politician. She wanted to take two weeks off, just like that? Sure, it was never a problem. They let her do whatever she wanted. And she wasn’t even a journalist, it wasn’t as if her articles were generating revenues to give her latitude to behave like this. There are people doing the real work who can only dream of taking two weeks off.” 

“In other words, you were jealous of her,” Lisbon summarized.

“No.” Westbrook shook her head and blew another gum bubble. “I became a journalist because of my strong sense of justice.”

“Were you the only person who had a problem with Miss Giffard’s behavior?” Cho wanted to know.

“No, of course not. There were frequent complaints, but it never did any good.”

“Do you know why that might have been?”

Westbrook laughed. “My guess is she was sleeping with the boss.”

“That’s just a guess?” Cho wanted to know.

“She didn’t live with her fiancé,” Westbrook replied with a shrug that said they should make up their own mind about the whole affair.

Lisbon decided to steer the conversation into a different direction. “What can you tell us about the Red Road Killer?”

There suddenly was a sparkle in Westbrook’s eyes, and she leaned forward conspiratorially. “He’s all we talk about at the office. David, he’s doing incredible work.”

“Are you involved in Mr. Stapleton’s work?” Lisbon asked.

“No, we work in different departments. But still, one hears things.”

Lisbon smirked. “Like what?”

“David is the one who came up with the name, he’s the number one expert. And he doesn’t mind sharing the information he’s gathered. You can just walk up to him and ask him anything about the Red Road Killer, and he’ll give you an answer. That’s a rare trait in a journalist. Usually, we are much more secretive; someone could be after our story.”

Lisbon remembered the conversation she’d had on Tuesday morning with Stapleton. Westbrook had a point. Now it was Thursday afternoon and Stapleton had already called her twice to talk to her about the case. He had also dropped by this morning to bring her copies of his file. Lisbon felt herself blush when she thought about the meeting. And it wasn’t at all like her to blush, least because of a married man. But she liked talking to Stapleton, she valued his insight, and she appreciated that he admired the work she was doing.

“Why do you think he does it?” Lisbon asked, trying to stay on track.

“As a journalist, you need to become an expert in at least one field,” Westbrook answered, “and he picked serial killers. He was lucky that there was suddenly a new one, especially after so much research had already been done on Red John. And when the first murder took place in San Francisco, he seized the opportunity.”

“You don’t think he does it to inform the public?”

Westbrook snorted. “You’ve been talking to him a lot, haven’t you? Yes, _inform the public_. He keeps saying that as if we had a choice on what to write about. You could have the most interesting story in front of you, but when it’s not sensational or new then no one will want to read it, and no one will buy your paper. He could have picked any topic, but he picked one he knew people would be interested in.”

Lisbon felt the sudden urge to defend Stapleton, but she wrestled it down. “Can you become famous as a journalist by writing about a serial killer?”

“I guess,” Westbrook shrugged, “if there’s a book deal involved.”

“The Red Road Killer has only killed three people so far,” Cho suddenly interjected. “Why the interest?”

“People want to know about serial killers, no matter how unsuccessful they seem to be. That’s our society for you.”

Lisbon cringed. “What about Miss Giffard? She was your colleague and she was murdered. Isn’t your paper capitalizing on the incident?”

“Yes, that’s a weird coincidence,” Westbrook admitted.

“Has the _California Observer_ ever received any threats?” Cho continued the line of inquiry. “Letters, calls, emails, anything like that?”

Westbrook shook her head. “Not that I know of. I mean, yes, of course we receive them from time to time, but not from the Red Road Killer.”

Lisbon’s phone, which was lying next to her notepad on the table, started to ring. She glanced down, expecting to see Jane’s name, but it was Stapleton calling her. “Speaking of the devil,” she murmured, then added, “Excuse me.”

She stood up, taking her phone with her, and went outside. “Lisbon,” she said.

“Agent Lisbon, I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.” Lisbon could hear the sounds of a busy office in the background, and mingled with the sounds from the bullpen, she had difficulty understanding Stapleton.

“Give me a minute,” she said, and walked briskly to her office, where it would be quieter. Once she had shut the door behind her, she asked Stapleton to continue.

“Are you busy right now?” he asked. The background noise had stopped, Lisbon guessed he had stepped into an office as well. “I can call back later if you are.”

“It’s fine,” Lisbon told him.

“It’s really not that important, but I forgot to ask you something this morning,” Stapleton continued. “It’s not about the case, this is a … _private_ matter.”

“Yes?” Lisbon asked hesitantly, not sure where this conversation was going.

“We have our annual office party tomorrow evening,” Stapleton continued. “Well, when I say _party_ … I mean it’s a formal dinner where we invite people who’ve supported our newspaper during the last year. It’s really boring, but I thought you might want to come. It might be a nice distraction from … work.”

“Have you been talking to Jane?” Lisbon asked.

“No, why?”

“Asking me to this dinner sounds like something he would put you up to,” Lisbon explained, feeling slightly embarrassed. “I’m sorry, he does that sometimes.”

“No, he didn’t ask me to ask you,” Stapleton assured her, “but, by all means, bring him along if you want. The more, the merrier.”

“I don’t know,” Lisbon said.

“Please, as my guest of honor?” Stapleton asked.

“Just how formal are we talking?”

“There’s a dress code, coat and tie.”

“For the women as well?”

Lisbon heard Stapleton chuckle. “You can bring a tie if you want. But I think it would better if you wore a dress.”

“I’ll have a look in my closet,” Lisbon said, accepting the invitation. “Just text me the details and I’ll be there.” She agreed to come, hoping it would make Jane leave her alone. He was always bugging her, trying to get her out of the office.

“Glad to hear it.” There was a short pause. “How’s the case?”

“I was just talking to one of your colleagues before you called,” Lisbon told him, “and I should really be getting back to the interrogation.”

“ _Interrogation_ ,” Stapleton repeated. “Sounds serious.”

“We’re just doing our job. But I can promise you’ll get Miss Westbrook back in one piece.”

“You’re talking to Lissa? Give her my best.”

“Will do,” Lisbon said.

They said their goodbyes. Lisbon remained in her office until she heard the sound of a text message. Stapleton had texted her an address in downtown Sacramento, not too far from CBI HQ. Lisbon had even driven past the venue a couple of times, but she had never been inside. Trying not to think about what she could expect from this party, she put her phone in her jacket pocket and went back to the interrogation room.

* * *

It was almost seven in the evening, and Lisbon was just finishing up her notes on the day’s interrogations when Jane knocked on her open door, a cup of tea in his hand.

“Hey,” she said, looking up.

“Hey yourself,” he replied. He looked tired, but he still managed a smile. “How are you?”

“Tired,” Lisbon told him.

“Mhm,” Jane made and sat down in one of the chairs in front of Lisbon’s desk, the same Stapleton had sat in two days before, and crossed his legs. “Difficult day?”

“It was okay.” Lisbon shrugged. “A couple of difficult interrogations.”

He smirked. “Did you miss me?”

“If I say yes, you’re just gonna tease me about it.”

“So, did you?” Jane took a sip of his tea.

“Yes,” Lisbon admitted with a smile. “We could have used your help.”

“I’m sorry,” Jane apologized. “I know I’ve been absent lately, but,” he lowered his voice, “it’s because of …”

“Because of Red John,” Lisbon said quickly. She could feel her heartbeat increasing, hoping he would finally tell her what he was doing when he wasn’t working with them on the case.

“Yes.” Jane cleared his throat. “And I also like it when you miss me.”

“Of course I miss you,” Lisbon said. “We could really use your help with this case.”

“Oh, come on, I’d like to think it’s more than that when you say you miss me.”

Lisbon did miss his insights on the case. Without him, they had to put in twice as much effort to catch the bad guys. She had no problem admitting that he was a valued member of the team and that they wouldn’t solve half as many cases without him. But more than that she missed being around him. His mannerisms were annoying, he got them into trouble more often than not, and he had a way about him that drove her up the walls, but she loved spending time with him. He always managed to cheer her up, be it either with a joke or a small present he surprised her with. And every day was a new adventure because there was just no way of telling what Jane would do next. The thought that they might not be able to continue like this once he finally caught up with Red John because he would lose interest in police work when the case was closed made her wish Red John would escape them forever. But she would never admit this out loud, not to her team and especially not to Jane.

She wasn’t blind, she had noticed more than once that he was spending more time with her than with any other team member. She sometimes caught him looking at her in a way that made her feel warm and safe and she also knew he was aware whenever she couldn’t help but stare at him. Or maybe it was just wishful thinking on her part. After all, during their years together, she had met many women who wouldn’t have minded getting some attention from Jane. He had that effect on people, and women in particular.

But they were partners. _Work_ partners. Lisbon was almost certain that their relationship didn’t go beyond that, at least Jane had never implied he would like them to be more. Whenever she felt like he was flirting with her, she had to remind herself it was just his way to talk to people. And she knew he needed his space. It would be unfair of her to have expectations toward him when he needed to find Red John first and bring him to justice. Maybe then, maybe after Red John was behind bars could she finally talk openly to him about the way she was feeling. Until then, she had to bury her feelings so deep Jane couldn’t read them on her face and try to enjoy the time they had together.

“Yes,” she finally said. For a brief moment, she allowed herself to look at Jane, really _look_ at him. The way he sat opposite her in his dark, three piece suit, legs crossed, his elbows propped up on the armrests of the chair, one hand holding the saucer, the other one the teacup, his hair ruffled from where he had run his fingers through his curls throughout the day, his eyes looking tired, but a smile on his lips that made her ask herself how it was possible not to fall in love with him.

And he returned the look, held her gaze; Lisbon wondered what he was seeing and suddenly felt self-conscious. She prepared herself for a snide remark about her crumpled shirt or her untidy hair, but Jane just smiled at her.

“Lisbon, you’re blushing.”

Lisbon’s hand shot up to her face to feel her warm cheek.

“Please, don’t blush on my account,” Jane said with a mischievous smirk.

“I wasn’t,” Lisbon blurted out. Why did she have to act like a silly, love-sick schoolgirl now, when there was nowhere to run to, and no one would come in to interrupt their conversation? Even her phone stayed silent. Her plan not to let her feelings show was failing spectacularly. “I was just thinking about something,” she said quickly.

“What were you thinking about?”

Lisbon decided the best way was to go into a defensive mode, so Jane wouldn’t suspect he was the cause for her behavior. “Guess.”

“I don’t think you want me to,” Jane answered. “I might say things you don’t want to hear.”

Too late it occurred to Lisbon that it hadn’t been the best idea to let Jane guess, but now the words were out she couldn’t take them back. “No, I want to hear it.”

“I can tell you what _I_ was thinking,” he offered. “I was thinking I should stay away more often if you look at me like you just did when we see each other again.”

They were on dangerous ground now, Lisbon knew it, but she couldn’t stop. “How do you mean?”

Jane smirked and took another sip of tea without breaking eye contact with Lisbon. Lisbon forced herself not to look away, even though she could feel her cheeks grow hot again.

“If I didn’t know you better, Lisbon, I’d say you’re a little bit in love with me.”

Lisbon’s heart was racing so fast she was sure Jane could hear it. She snorted. “Please, don’t get your hopes up.”

Jane shrugged and put down his cup and saucer and somehow Lisbon knew the moment had passed. “You said you wanted to hear it.”

“I was actually thinking about tomorrow evening,” Lisbon went on quickly.

“What’s tomorrow evening?”

“We’re invited to some dinner party the _California Observer_ is hosting.”

“ _We_ are?”

“Well, I’m the guest of honor, but you can come along if you want.” Lisbon tried to play it cool, but she hoped Jane would want to come. The thought of him being there made the whole affair seem less tedious.

“Guest of honor, is it? Who invited you?”

“Stapleton did,” Lisbon answered.

“Oh, he likes you, I can tell.” They were back to teasing each other, and Lisbon was relieved they had steered clear of a crash site that would have produced damage they couldn’t fix.

“He’s married,” Lisbon reminded him.

“People who are married don’t suddenly lose interest in ...,” he nodded at Lisbon.

“It’s not like that. It’s just a boring dinner party for employees and their friends.”

“Do you want to bet on it? Ten bucks says he’s gonna be jealous if you bring me along.”

“All right,” Lisbon agreed, extending her hand. “You got yourself a bet.”

Jane took her hand and shook it, but he didn’t let it go immediately. He brushed his thumb lightly against Lisbon’s skin, making it tingle. “And five bucks says you’re in love with me, at least a tiny bit.” His voice was a low hum when he said it.

Lisbon freed her hand and turned it, so her palm was facing up. “Give me my money. Now.”

Jane pulled out his wallet, took out a five-dollar bill, and placed it in Lisbon’s hand. “Normally, I would want you to prove it, but I’m gonna take your word for it.”

Lisbon put the bill into her pocket. “Pick me up tomorrow evening, half past seven. Don’t be late.”

Jane raised two fingers in mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

* * *

Jane slowly drove along Lisbon’s street. He knew he had overstepped a line the previous evening, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself, not after Lisbon had looked at him like _that_. Jane had seen longing in her gaze, and love that went beyond what she should be feeling for him. And he had enjoyed it so much that he hadn’t stopped himself from saying the thought that had been lingering at the back of his mind for a long time. _I’d say you’re a little bit in love with me_.

He was glad that Lisbon hadn’t admitted to having feelings for him, and he still hoped he was reading her wrong. But, nevertheless, he had to be careful this evening, so he wouldn’t overstep the line again. Maybe going with her to this dinner party hadn’t been the best idea. If – and it was a very big if – Lisbon should have feelings for him, he didn’t want to encourage her. Not now anyway.

But he didn’t trust himself to leave Stapleton alone with Lisbon. He knew she liked him, and he was scared that the feeling might be mutual. Of course, he wanted Lisbon to be happy, and if she could be happy with Stapleton, he would leave her be. But he also couldn’t deny he was jealous, jealous because Lisbon received attention from another man, when he was right there, wishing he could give her all she wanted.

No, he couldn’t allow himself to think like that. If his suspicion was correct, and Stapleton made a move on Lisbon this evening, he would let them be.

Jane pulled up in front of Lisbon’s house and texted her he was waiting for her. With satisfaction he saw he was five minutes early. Lisbon texted back shortly afterwards, telling him she would be out soon. He got out of the car and waited, leaning against its smooth surface, while he watched the light behind Lisbon’s windows go out.

The warm glow of the evening sun illuminated Lisbon as she stepped out onto the street, closing the door behind her. She fumbled with her keys, then let them drop into a small clutch and shut it with a snap. All the while, Jane couldn’t take his eyes off her.

Lisbon was wearing a tight, black dress that was held up by two straps connect at the back of her neck. Half her back was bare. The hem of the dress stopped just shy of her knees; her legs were bare also, and she wore black high heels that went with the dress. Her hair fell over her shoulders in loose waves, and she let her hand run through it once when she spotted Jane. So much for his resolution to keep his distance.

“You really are on time, I’m impressed,” she said, smiling at him brightly, and walked toward him, the way her hips moved in the tight dress momentarily leaving Jane at a loss for words.

“You look … wow,” Jane finally managed to say.

“Thank you.”

They stood there for a moment, neither of them sure how to proceed. Then Jane remembered they had a dinner party to attend. He straightened his back and cleared his throat.

“Please,” he said, offering his arm and Lisbon took it.

He led her around the car and opened the door for her. Then he carefully clutched her arm, helping her inside.

“Thank you,” she said again, smiling up at him, and Jane noticed for the first time she was wearing dark red lipstick. How had he missed that before?

He found he was unable to let go of her hand; he was so preoccupied staring at her. It wasn’t the first time he had seen her in a dress, and it certainly wasn’t the most revealing dress he’d ever seen her in, but something about this evening and her smile and her smell – was she wearing perfume? – held him spellbound. When the expression on her face changed from warm to slightly confused, he raised her hand to his lips and brushed a gentle kiss against it. Then he let go of her hand, and Lisbon pulled it back, looking at him quizzically.

Jane quickly shut the door and walked around the back of his car to the driver’s side. Had he really just kissed Lisbon’s hand? What was going on with him? He needed to come up with a snarky remark, and fast, if he wanted to save his face.

He breathed in deeply once and opened his door, quickly climbing inside without looking at Lisbon directly. “I guess you owe me ten bucks,” he said. Then he cleared his throat; his voice sounded odd.

“Why’s that?” Lisbon asked, while he started the car.

“If Stapleton wasn’t in love with you until now, he’s gonna be once he sees you like this.”

Lisbon ran her hand through her hair again. “We’ll see about that.”


	5. A Midnight Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> L is for the way he looks at her, O is for the only one he sees ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I wrote an outline for this fanfic, this chapter wasn't supposed to go like this but things happen, I guess. Also, I did ballroom dancing for two years and still had to google which hand goes where.

Jane whistled appreciatively. “Fancy.”

He was approaching the address Lisbon had given him, which turned out to be an old mansion set in its own small park. There was a fountain out front, illuminated by colored spotlights. Expensive cars were driving in front of and behind them, and as they approached the driveway, Jane saw Lisbon hadn’t exaggerated when she had called the dinner _formal_. The people gathered in front of the house fit the meaning of this adjective: The men were all wearing suits or tuxedos, the women flowing dresses and expensive hairstyles.

Lisbon stared out of the window, trepidation written all over her face.

“Don’t worry, you’ll fit right in,” Jane tried to cheer her up.

“This is even more formal than I'd expected,” she admitted.

They approached the entrance to the venue and were directed by a valet to the right-hand side of the house into a parking lot. Jane found an empty spot at the end of the lot and parked the car there. They sat in silence for a few seconds after Jane shut down the engine, both looking at the mansion.

“We don’t have to go in if you don’t want to,” Jane said quickly. “I can take you out to dinner, someplace nice, and then we’ll be in bed by ten.”

Lisbon squeezed Jane’s arm reassuringly. “I’m fine,” she said. “Let’s go.”

She started to open her door, but Jane said, “Wait,” and quickly open his own door, sprinted around the car, and opened Lisbon’s door for her.

“You have to stop doing that or I’m gonna get used to it,” Lisbon teased, as she took his hand.

Jane shrugged. “I just want to win my bet.”

Lisbon laughed. “I don’t think Stapleton is lurking in the bushes over there, waiting for me to arrive.”

Jane offered her his arm again, and she took it. They walked in silence across the lot, until they reached the front of the house. A man at the door was checking the names of the arriving guests, and once Lisbon spotted him, she let go of Jane’s arm and briskly walked toward him, while Jane hurried after her. She gave the man her name and he ticked it off his list, before looking at Jane.

“He’s with me,” Lisbon said quickly.

“I don’t have a plus one for you, ma’am,” the man informed her.

“That must be a mistake. Mr. Stapleton assured me I could bring someone along,” Lisbon insisted.

“What’s your name?” the man asked Jane.

Jane gave him his name.

“I’m sorry, sir, your name isn’t on the list.”

Before either Jane or Lisbon could say anything, Stapleton appeared next to them. “Agent Lisbon,” he said, appreciatively letting his eyes wander up and down her appearance. He extended his hand and Lisbon shook it

Jane felt a burning sensation in the pit of his stomach. Was it jealousy or was it anger? Better not to examine it too closely.

“Mr. Jane.” Stapleton also shook Jane’s hand. “I wasn’t sure Agent Lisbon would be able to convince you to come.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Jane replied, putting on his most winning smile.

“Please.”

Stapleton ushered them inside. The first room was an entrance hall with a bar to one side. It led into a ballroom with several round tables. Plates, glasses, and cutlery had already been laid out and each table was decorated with a bouquet of flowers in its middle. In one corner there was a canopied stage, which led Jane to believe there would be some sort of entertainment later. It was a warm evening, so the French doors leading out into the garden stood open and a gentle breeze was blowing inside, ruffling tablecloths and evening dresses.

Stapleton led them to one of the tables located in the center of the room. He pulled out a chair and looked at Lisbon. “Please,” he said again.

Lisbon smiled at him and sat down.

“You are over here, Mr. Jane.” Stapleton pointed at a seat opposite Lisbon.

Jane remained standing, his hands in the pockets of his trousers, considering which of the several snarky remarks tumbling around in his head he should throw at Stapleton.

“Who’s sitting next to me?” Lisbon wanted to know, turning around so she could look at Stapleton, who was still standing behind her.

“I am,” Stapleton replied with a smile. “You’re _my_ guest of honor, after all.”

“Oh,” Lisbon made, looking apologetically at Jane.

Jane, who had been glaring at Stapleton, quickly changed his expression to one saying _I told you so_ , and raised his eyebrows at Lisbon. “Thank you, Mr. Stapleton, you just earned me ten dollars,” he said.

“What’s that?” Stapleton asked.

“Nothing,” Lisbon said quickly. “Don’t you want to sit down, Jane?”

Jane did as he was told. The room was filling fast now, and Stapleton took his seat next to Lisbon to get out of the way of the people coming in, looking for their seats. One chair still remained empty at their table, and while Jane looked at the people around them to figure out who would be joining them, he caught Stapleton staring at Lisbon unabashedly.

Jane cleared his throat. “Mr. Stapleton, why did you invite us this evening?”

Stapleton smiled his winning smile. “I thought it would be a good thing for Agent Lisbon to get out of the office, forget about the case for a while.”

“That’s what I keep telling her, but she doesn’t seem to listen to me,” Jane said with a smirk.

“I’m here because I want to be here, not because anyone _told_ me to,” Lisbon interjected.

“Of course, Agent,” Stapleton said quickly, “and I’m very happy you decided to join us.”

Jane looked at the cutlery in front of him, picked up a knife, and began to fiddle with it. “So what’s your deal, Mr. Stapleton? I thought you said you were married.”

“Happily married, yes,” Stapleton confirmed. “And we have two beautiful children, a boy and a girl. I can show you the pictures if you like.”

“And where’s your wife this evening?”

Next to Stapleton, Lisbon was going pale. Jane knew he was embarrassing her, but he couldn’t stop. Something about Stapleton was bothering him, and the most unnerving thing was he couldn’t put his finger on what it was exactly. It wasn’t just the way he kept glancing at Lisbon, there was more to it.

“She’s home with the kids,” Stapleton answered. “Our babysitter got sick, unfortunately.”

“That’s a shame. I was looking forward to meeting her.”

Jane had to remind himself how he had hoped for such a situation to occur just three days ago. Hadn’t he planned on setting Lisbon up with Stapleton? But now he had the chance, he suddenly felt protective of Lisbon and wished Stapleton wouldn’t sit just so close to her.

Then Stapleton looked at someone behind Jane and jumped up. “Agent Darcy! Pleasure to see you again.”

Now it was Jane’s turn to go pale. Darcy was the last person he had expected to meet this evening. He was suddenly painfully aware that the last time they had met in person, she had accused him of working for Red John. Lisbon’s eyes widened when she spotted Darcy, and then she looked at Jane in concern.

Stapleton had rushed off to shake hands with Darcy, and Jane used this opportunity to compose himself before he also stood up and turned around to face their colleague from the FBI. Darcy was wearing a floor-length dark blue dress which looked odd on her. She wasn’t the type to wear dresses, and to see her in one, looking so much at ease, threw Jane off.

“Mr. Jane!” Jane could see Darcy was just as shocked to see him here as he had been when Stapleton had said her name. Then her eyes wandered past him and came to rest on Lisbon. “Agent Lisbon, what are _you_ doing here?”

“We were invited by Mr. Stapleton,” Lisbon answered while Jane shook Darcy’s hand, not making eye contact.

“She’s my guest of honor. In fact, you both are,” Stapleton interjected. “I wouldn’t be able to do my work without a little help from law enforcement, and I want to give something back this evening.”

“You two know each other?” Jane asked.

“Once you’ve been in the business for as long as I have, you know a lot of people,” Stapleton evaded the question. “Please, Agent Darcy, this is your seat here, next to Mr. Jane.”

Jane pulled out the chair for Darcy, just as Stapleton had done for Lisbon, and she sat down. Then she turned to Lisbon and asked how the CBI knew Stapleton. While Lisbon summarized the Red Road Killer case briefly, Jane sat down next to Darcy, all the while keeping his eyes on Stapleton. Jane didn’t believe it was a coincidence Darcy was here this evening, as it also wasn’t a coincidence he was sitting next to her. What kind of game was Stapleton playing? What would he gain by putting them so close together? And what did he know about Jane’s difficult relationship with Darcy and the FBI?

Jane found it hard to read Stapleton. He treated Lisbon and Darcy nice enough, and even smiled at Jane every time they talked, even though Jane had tried to get him to crack several times. Stapleton pretended to listen to Lisbon and Darcy with interest, but Jane could tell he didn’t really care what they were talking about. Only when the conversation turned to Stapleton’s work did he show genuine interest and plunged into a retelling of the first two cases and how he had gathered information on them. Those were all classic traits of sociopathic behavior.

Then it occurred to Jane what it was that bothered him so much about Stapleton. His friendliness was all an act. A very good act, since it had taken Jane so long to see through it. But it was still superficial, and the signs were there if you knew where to look. Then it became glaringly obvious that, despite his big talk about informing the public and doing his work for the people, Stapleton was only an attention-seeking sociopath who had found an outlet for his affinity for recognition by writing about serial killers. That he might hurt people he came in contact with while doing his work wasn’t important to him. He needed law enforcement officers to feed him information. His talk about “guests of honor” was just a ruse to get Lisbon and Darcy to trust him. He would throw their careers under the bus if there was a journalism prize in it for him.

And now Lisbon was sitting right next to him, laughing at his jokes, punching his arm playfully when Stapleton complimented her on solving another case, and obviously flirting with him, and Jane’s heart tightened in his chest. He had been wrong, and that was something which almost never happened. Stapleton wasn’t the right man for Lisbon. He wasn’t the right man for anyone. And Jane’s behavior, once more, had pushed someone he cared about into a dangerous situation, even if it was just Lisbon’s career on the line this time, and not her life.

“Jane, you okay?” Lisbon suddenly asked, pulling Jane back from the dark hole his thoughts were spiraling into.

“Hm?” he made.

Lisbon nodded at someone standing next to Jane and Jane finally noticed a waiter with a bottle of wine in his hand. “Wine, sir?” he asked in a strained voice. It obviously wasn’t the first time he had asked Jane that question.

“Sure,” Jane nodded, and watched how the glass in front of him was filled with red wine.

When it was Lisbon’s turn, she asked if she could have a beer instead and Stapleton raised his eyebrows in surprise. “A woman to my taste,” he said, draping an arm over the backrest of Lisbon’s chair. “Make that two.”

Lisbon looked across the table at Jane, her expression somewhere between concern and embarrassment, and Jane put on a smile immediately. He didn’t want her to see any of the thoughts that had crossed his mind. She deserved a carefree evening; they could talk about Stapleton in the morning.

The food arrived and while the sounds of conversation died down, replaced by the sounds of spoons hitting expensive porcelain, Darcy finally turned to Jane.

“Mr. Jane,” she said again. “I was really surprised to see you here this evening.”

“Well, I’m full of surprises,” he said between two spoons of soup.

“I’m actually glad you’re here, since you refuse to talk to me on the phone.”

“Really, Agent Darcy, now? I’m in the middle of enjoying this soup.”

“Yes, _now_ ,” Darcy insisted, “because if I wait for you not to be in the middle of enjoying your soup, you’re gonna be in the middle of solving a case or in the middle of taking a day off or in the middle of being thrown in prison.”

Jane smirked. “How would I end up in prison?”

“You will, if you’re working for Red John.”

“Oh, are you still pursuing that ridiculous idea?” Jane said with a dismissive wave of his hand, acting as if he hadn’t thought about their last meeting at least once a day. “I’m guessing you still don’t have any evidence.”

“You’re taking this whole affair awfully lightly for someone who knows exactly what Red John is capable of.”

Jane picked up his wine glass and finished it almost in one go. “Believe me, Agent Darcy, I’m not taking this lightly. If I may offer you a piece of advice – stay away from Red John, for your own safety.”

“Is that a threat? Are you threatening me?” Darcy’s voice remained calm, but there was a definite edge to it now.

“Are you scared? Because you should be.”

The waiter went past and refilled Jane’s glass without asking.

“I could arrest you right here for threatening a federal agent, you know.”

“But you’re not going to because you know I have nothing to do with Red John,” Jane pointed out.

“Then why not work with us? With the FBI’s resources and your insights into the case it will only be a matter of time until we catch Red John.”

Jane had finished his soup and while he waited for the second course, he, once more, looked over the table at Lisbon and Stapleton. Stapleton had removed his arm from Lisbon’s chair, but they were still sitting too close together for Jane’s taste. At least they had stopped talking to each other for now. When Lisbon looked up to see Jane staring at her, he raised his glass and nodded, and she did the same with her bottle of beer.

The second course arrived, and Jane busied himself with the food on his plate, ignoring Darcy’s presence as best as he could. But she was an FBI agent, after all, and used to getting the answers she sought.

“Well, Mr. Jane? Will you come and work with us on the case?”

“I don’t think so,” Jane answered, his mouth full. He washed the food down with a big gulp of wine. “I’ve seen what happens to people who come too close to Red John.”

“And yet you continue to hunt him. Why’s that?”

“I know I will catch up with him eventually. And if I do, it’s just gonna be my life on the line. No reason for anyone else to die.” The words were out before Jane could stop himself.

“How very noble of you.” The sarcasm in Darcy’s voice was cutting.

Jane shrugged and continued to eat. The waiter filled his glass for a second time, and Jane knew he should lay off the wine, but when he looked across the table and saw Lisbon whisper conspiratorially with Stapleton, he needed the buzzing feeling alcohol gave him to distract himself.

By dessert, Darcy had given up pestering him with questions about Red John and was instead asking about the Red Road Killer. As a sign of good faith, Jane answered all her questions to the best of his knowledge. He even managed to make Darcy smile, which he noted down as a success.

While they were finishing dessert, a small band was taking their places on the stage. Jane was still contemplating whether he should ask Lisbon to dance with him, when he heard Stapleton loudly ask for the first dance. Lisbon looked at the stage with trepidation but agreed. Jane finished his third glass of wine, then excused himself to go to the bar he had spotted on the way in.

While he heard the band play their first song, a jazzy version of Cole Porter’s “I Get a Kick Out of You”, he ordered a large bourbon, then walked back to linger in the doorway to the ballroom and watch the couples on the dancefloor. He sipped his drink, observing Lisbon and Stapleton from a distance. They were swaying to the music; it was far from the quickstep this song called for, but Lisbon looked happy and relaxed, and Jane had to smile, despite the feeling of jealousy rising up from his stomach, mingling with the sharp taste of the bourbon.

The second song started, and Lisbon continued to dance with Stapleton. It was a slower song, one Jane didn’t recognize, but it had them dancing closer together. Jane tried to fight down the intrusive thoughts telling him he should be the one dancing with Lisbon, but then he realized there was no reason he couldn’t be. They weren’t at work, they were here in their spare time, and it was innocent enough to ask a woman for a dance. Especially if said woman was a close friend and they had danced together before.

Jane finished his bourbon with one big gulp, put the glass down on the bar, and walked toward Lisbon and Stapleton.

* * *

The slow song stopped, and Lisbon let go of Stapleton’s hand. She hoped Jane wasn’t watching because if he saw them together like this, there would be no persuading him Stapleton didn’t have a crush on her. Just as if her thoughts had the power to summon him, he appeared next to them, smiling his crooked smile.

“May I have this dance?” he asked, extending a hand to Lisbon.

Lisbon glanced at Stapleton who shrugged and stepped away.

“All right,” she agreed, taking Jane’s hand.

Jane pulled her close and put his right hand lightly on her back. She was suddenly very aware the dress was low-cut on her back, but she managed to pull herself together immediately. This wasn’t her first time dancing with Jane, after all.

“Do you know how to dance foxtrot?” Jane whispered in her ear as the next song started.

“What?”

“Foxtrot, the dance?” Jane laughed. “I’m gonna show you.”

Jane put his left foot forward and stepped on Lisbon’s right one. “Ouch,” she said.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “I should’ve explained it first. You start with your right foot, two steps backwards. It’s really easy. You just need to let me lead.”

“What comes after the two steps back?” Lisbon asked.

“You’ll see,” Jane said. “On the count of three.”

Lisbon had just enough time to gather herself before Jane moved forward again. This time she was prepared and did as he had told her. But after the two steps backwards he moved her to the side, and she stumbled over her feet.

Jane laughed. “Lisbon, just trust me.”

“I’m trying, but you’re not telling me what to do,” Lisbon complained.

“You don’t need to know, just feel the music and my movements.”

Lisbon sighed. She had avoided ballroom dancing all her life because she knew she had a problem with being led by someone else. But this was Jane, and they were at a party, so she figured she could let go for once. “All right, let’s try again,” she agreed.

This time, they got through all four steps without any accidents, and soon Lisbon was getting the hang of it. Jane led her around the dancefloor, and she was surprised by how much she was enjoying herself. She should have known Jane was a good dancer, it really shouldn’t surprise her. When the song ended, she was disappointed it was already over, but Jane made no move to let her go.

The next song was slower again, and this time Jane refrained from teaching her another dance. Instead, he swayed them slowly in time to the music.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked.

“Yes,” she admitted. “Are you?”

Jane hesitated before answering. “I’m enjoying this.”

Lisbon moved closer to Jane and carefully lay her cheek on his shoulder. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, but it felt right. Jane shifted his right arm slightly, so she was more comfortable. They danced like this until the song was over and all the way through the next one. Lisbon found herself wishing they would spend the rest of the night like this. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so relaxed, and it felt right, the way their bodies fitted together. If she hadn’t already had three bottles of beer, she wouldn’t allow herself to think like this, but there was really no harm in enjoying an innocent dance with a friend and colleague.

Then Lisbon stumbled again when Jane tried to avoid collision with another couple.

“Careful,” she protested, as her head shot up from his shoulder.

“Sorry,” he said, steadying her. “Maybe we should take a break.”

“No!” Lisbon protested, too quickly.

Jane smirked. “Don’t worry, the night is still young.” Then, “Can I buy you a drink?”

“It’s an open bar.”

“Don’t be so unromantic.” He led her toward the bar. “What can I get you?”

“A scotch,” Lisbon answered. Walking made her aware her feet hurt in the high shoes she was wearing. “And I would like to sit down.”

There was a throng around the bar, but Jane managed to find a stool at the end and helped her climb onto it. Then he went to order their drinks, leaving Lisbon alone with her thoughts. And her thoughts were confusing. She would be lying to herself if she pretended not to like the attention Jane was giving her. Yes, it had been nice to talk to Stapleton as well; he seemed to admire her. But with Jane, it was different. Jane made her feel cared for, and he made her feel safe. She wanted to continue to explore where this evening might lead them, but she also knew she had to be careful not to let it go too far. Even if Jane had an ulterior motive, which she doubted, he would never see it through to the end. All she had to do was to restrain herself and put her guard back up, then they wouldn’t do anything they both might regret in the morning.

But, then again, what would be so bad if they let themselves go just once? Lisbon liked to believe their friendship was strong enough it could recover from a night spent together. She tried telling herself she didn’t want more; just one night together and then business as usual.

She also knew she was lying to herself. There was no way they could go back to being just friends, even though she would like to try if they could. And she knew it wouldn’t be enough for her. Still, if Jane asked her tonight to come home with him, she wouldn’t say no. Just thinking about it made her shiver, and she tried to ignore the buzz of alcohol, making her feel light-headed, making her feel like letting herself go.

“Hey.”

She had been so deep in her thoughts she hadn’t noticed Jane coming back with their drinks. His sudden appearance made her jump.

“Here.” He handed her the tumbler of scotch before leaning against the wall next to her, swirling his own drink around in his glass. “Penny for your thoughts.”

“I’m thinking they’re none of your business,” Lisbon hurried to say. She took a sip of her drink, feeling it wander down her throat, making her face flush.

“I won our bet, by the way,” Jane pointed out and Lisbon had to think for a moment before she remembered what he was talking about.

“Why’s that?” Lisbon was glad for any distraction from her thoughts.

“Please, I watched Stapleton all evening. If his wife had been here, she would be filing for divorce right about now.”

“Excuse me? We didn’t do anything.”

“I didn’t say it was a mutual attraction, but it’s interesting you feel the need to defend yourself.”

“He’s a nice guy,” Lisbon said with a non-committal shrug. She let the tip of her index finger run across the surface of the cool glass in her hand. “It was fun talking to him.”

“You’re just continuing to prove my suspicion. You like him, don’t you?”

Leave it to Jane to ruin a perfectly nice evening by pushing her buttons. “You can’t make up your mind, can you? Yesterday evening, I was in love with you, now I’m in love with Stapleton. Maybe I like neither of you.”

“Shhh,” Jane made, and Lisbon realized she had raised her voice. The people sitting behind her turned around to see what was going on and she smiled at them apologetically.

Lisbon felt like punching Jane; she took a deep breath to restrain herself. “You can be such a jerk.”

Jane winked. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it.”

“No, I don’t,” Lisbon said firmly. “I prefer it when you’re nice to me.”

“I’m always nice to you. You’re the one who has to turn every conversation we have into a fight.”

Lisbon put down her tumbler, which was almost empty. “I need some air,” she informed him.

As she walked off, she heard him call her name, but she ignored him. Only ten minutes ago she had actually considered having sex with Jane. She was such an idiot for thinking like this. He didn’t like her that way, of course he didn’t. Everything was a game to him. It didn’t matter if he was playing with her heart; if he felt like being courteous, he acted like a real gentleman, but when he got bored with it, he was back to taunting her, until all she could think about was throwing her drink in his face. She really should know better by now than to let her guard down like this.

She pushed her way past the dancing couples and walked through the French doors onto the terrace. It was mostly deserted, and she could stand in the shadows without anyone noticing her. She took a couple of deep breaths to steady herself, then hugged her arms around herself. Maybe she should go look for Stapleton. If she asked him to drive her home, it would infuriate Jane, and she felt like annoying him. It might be a good way to get back at him.

Before she could make up her mind, Jane stepped out onto the terrace. He spotted her and came toward her. The sight of him made Lisbon almost forget she was angry with him, but then she remembered the sorrowful look on his face was just part of his act.

“Lisbon, I’m sorry,” he said, once he was next to her. He took her hand in his. “Please, forgive me.”

Lisbon pulled back her hand. “No,” she said simply.

“You don’t turn every conversation into a fight, I’m sorry I said that,” Jane continued. “It’s me. I get on your nerves until you snap.”

Lisbon was surprised by so much honesty. “Why do you do it?”

Jane looked at the ground and shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Look, I enjoy our squabbles, I really do, but you don’t know when to stop.” Jane didn’t say anything. “I was having a nice time until you started acting all weird. It was your idea. You wanted to bet. And you won. So why can’t you just let it go?”

Jane just smiled at her sadly.

“I’m gonna be honest with you, but you have to promise me to be honest with me as well,” Lisbon offered. “Can you be honest, just once?”

Jane nodded slowly. “I promise,” he said.

Lisbon took a deep breath. She knew she should stop talking. Hadn’t she just promised herself not to let Jane in anymore? But the alcohol was working against her resolution, and she wanted to get this _thing_ between them out of the way, so they could get back to enjoying the evening. “I like Stapleton, but not in the way you think. He’s a nice man, I enjoy the attention he gives me, but I don’t have feelings for him. And even if I did, I wouldn’t act on them. He’s married, and I can’t do complicated right now. So you can stop being an asshole about it.”

“You sure you don’t have feelings for him?”

Lisbon snorted. “You know, for someone with your skills you’re awfully blind sometimes.”

“I wasn’t jealous,” Jane said.

“You promised to be honest,” Lisbon reminded him.

She saw Jane swallow. “Okay, maybe a little bit,” he finally admitted, “but I don’t have any right to be. And instead of dealing with it on my own, I punished you for it. Again, I’m sorry.”

“You’re right, you don’t have any right to be jealous,” Lisbon said, her words making Jane wince, “but I’m not angry with you for it. This whole evening … I don’t know if it was the best idea. I think it’s … confusing, for the both of us. Maybe we should just go home.”

Jane put his hand on Lisbon’s bare arm. His touch was warm, and she felt herself lean into it. “Not yet,” he said. It sounded almost like he was pleading with her. “I don’t want this to be over.”

Lisbon looked up at him to reason with him. But the words died in her throat when she saw Jane’s face. It was all written there, in plain sight, for everyone to see. There was no doubt about it anymore. He was in love with her and he let her see it. The openness took Lisbon’s breath away, and all the doubts she had vanished, carried away by the cool evening breeze.

His right hand came up to her chin, tilting her head back slightly. There was no more hesitation in his movements, no more dancing around her. And she waited for him, her whole body humming with anticipation.

Jane’s lips were softer than she had expected. He tasted of bourbon and wine and the dessert he’d eaten, but there was also something else, his own taste, and Lisbon parted her lips, letting it in, gulping it down. It was as if she had spent her whole life looking for this taste, and now that she had found it, there was no satisfying her. Her hands came up; she ran her fingers through his hair, her nails scraping against his scalp, tugging at his curls so he would come even closer. It made him moan against her lips and the sound of it sent a shiver down her spine. One taste of this and she was hooked. She pulled his hair again, and he repeated the sound, his hand moving from her chin to her butt, grabbing it. The movement threw them both off-balance and they stumbled backward. Lisbon’s back connected with the wall and they broke apart.

“Sorry,” Jane muttered.

His curls were a mess and in the light from the ballroom Lisbon could see his face was flushed. The sight made her grin from ear to ear. Without a word, she gripped the collar of his shirt, pulling him close again, and he happily obliged. She kissed him carefully, scared he would change his mind if she overdid it, but his hand found her butt again and squeezed it, so she sucked his bottom lip in between her teeth and bit down. One hand was in his curls again, the other one she used to steady herself against the wall. Jane pushed forward, pressing his body against hers until she was trapped between him and the wall. He encouraged her with sounds and sighs and light touches, and she felt light-headed, and happier than she could remember being in a long time. Jane’s tongue carefully flicked against her lips and she opened them immediately, letting him in, sucking to pull him in deeper.

Jane pulled away. “Teresa,” he pleaded, his eyes dark with lust.

She craned her neck so she could whisper into his ear. “Take me home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you were wondering what sort of music was playing during the dancing scene, you can find out [here](https://gracevanpelt.tumblr.com/post/617453943480614912/tea-for-two-a-jisbon-jazz-playlist-i-made).


	6. No Matter How Long It Takes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the morning after and Lisbon tries to remember what happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I wrote the outline for this fanfic, I structured it into three parts, this is the last chapter of Part 1. After this, it's back to the case for a while, only things are much more complicated now.

Lisbon woke up slowly. She blinked, once, twice, then stretched and yawned. Morning light was falling in through the windows of her bedroom; she must have forgotten to close the curtains the previous evening.

She sat up with a jerk, causing a piercing pain to flare up behind her eyes. Great, she had a hangover. And a much bigger problem. They had kissed, she and Jane had kissed, she had told him to take her home and … and then she couldn’t remember what had happened. How had they gotten home? Had Jane been driving? Had they kissed more? How had she ended up wearing the oversized jersey she always slept in? Carefully, she shifted around on the bed and discovered she was still wearing underpants; that was something at least.

Lisbon looked around the room, searching for more clues to figure out what had happened. The bed next to her was empty, but looked slept in, and for a moment, she had a sinking feeling in her chest. Had Jane snuck out early to avoid her? Then she spotted his jacket draped over the chair she usually used for her dirty laundry and she was flooded with relief.

She climbed out of bed and went through the pockets of the jacket, looking for clues that would help her piece together the previous night. She only found the receipt of a taxi company, and, checking the date, realized it was from last night. So they had taken a cab home.

Lisbon closed her eyes and tried to remember, using the tricks Jane had taught her. She took herself back to the kiss, feeling a warm, tingling feeling at the memory. The way he had looked at her, disheveled, vulnerable, and definitely turned on. Then there they were, in the back of a cab. His hand was on her thigh, his fingers stroking her bare skin almost nervously. They had kept their distance otherwise, but the air around them had been humming with tension, almost like electricity. The cab had stopped in front of her house, Jane had paid the driver, while Lisbon had unlocked the door, they had stumbled inside, laughing, kissing, high on being so close to each other, and then …

Nothing.

Lisbon couldn’t remember. She might have had sex with Patrick Jane, and she couldn’t remember! How was she supposed to face him again? Jane, who never forgot anything, who was able to recall every tiny detail of every conversation they’d ever had.

Frustrated, Lisbon groaned and stuffed the receipt back into Jane’s pocket. She knew she couldn’t hide in her bedroom forever. Sooner or later, she had to go looking for him and ask him what had happened, no matter how embarrassed she might feel. And he would tease her about it.

Or would he?

What if the kiss and whatever had come afterward had changed their relationship, damaged it even, and they would never be the same again? Lisbon hadn’t thought about that yet, but now she felt hot panic rise from the pit of her stomach to her throat. Just because Jane’s jacket was still here didn’t mean he was as well; she had just assumed it to be a fact. Maybe they had tried to have sex and couldn’t make it work, maybe she had been bad at it or maybe she had embarrassed herself, and he had rushed to get out of there, forgetting to take his jacket with him.

The only way to have her worries confirmed or denied was to go downstairs and see if Jane was still here. And because Lisbon had never been one to delay a task, no matter how uncomfortable, she straightened her jersey, opened the door to her bedroom, and went downstairs.

There were sounds coming from the kitchen. Someone was going through her cupboards, and she heard music, then talking. Jane was still here! And he was listening to the radio. Lisbon felt relief wash over her. Whatever had happened couldn’t have been that bad then. With two more steps, Lisbon reached the kitchen door and pushed it open.

Morning light flooded her kitchen, everything was illuminated in soft, golden tones. Or maybe it just appeared to look that way because Jane was standing in front of the stove, spatula in one hand, stirring eggs in a pan, tapping his foot in time to the beat of a sixties song playing on the radio. He was just wearing a shirt and trousers, no vest, and his hair was still ruffled – Lisbon didn’t dare ask from what.

Lisbon cleared her throat, and Jane slowly turned around.

“Morning,” she said carefully.

“Hey,” he said, flashing a bright smile at her.

She knew she shouldn’t stare at him so unabashedly before she had figured out what had happened, but she couldn’t help it. Seeing him like this made her heart beat faster, made her breathing falter, made her dream of a different life with him, and she knew it would be all right between them. He looked at her as if he was thinking the same, his eyes wandering over her naked legs up to her tousled hair, then coming to rest on her face, gazing into her eyes.

“Did you … did you sleep like this?” Lisbon asked carefully.

“Well, I couldn’t very well sleep naked,” Jane said with a smirk.

Lisbon shrugged, indicating she wouldn’t have minded.

“Believe me, you did try to get me naked,” Jane went on.

Lisbon blushed bright red. “I did, didn’t I?” Flashes of memory were coming back to her of them on her couch. She was straddling him, unbuttoning his shirt, he was stroking her thigh, kissing her neck, her shoulders. She glanced at Jane and saw something on his neck that looked suspiciously like a hickey. “Oh God, did I do that?” she asked, indicating her own neck.

“Don’t tell me you don’t remember.”

“Not all of it,” she admitted slowly.

Jane laughed. “Don’t worry, you were quite drunk. I’m gonna fill you in in a minute. But first – are you hungry?”

Lisbon nodded, feeling a sense of foreboding. She sat down at the small kitchen table.

“The eggs aren’t done yet, but the coffee is.” He nodded at a French press standing next to the stove.

“What’s that?” Lisbon asked.

“Coffee. In a French press,” Jane answered slowly.

“I know what it is, I mean where did it come from? I don’t own a French press,” Lisbon clarified.

“You do now; your kitchen could do with a little improvement.”

“Says the man who lives in the attic of the place where he works,” Lisbon pointed out.

“And my attic has all the things I could need. Your kitchen, on the other hand …”

“Well, I don’t have the time and leisure to make coffee every morning. You always make sure of that.”

“Me?” Jane sounded surprised.

“If I’m late for work, you’ll use the time to start a brawl or to get yourself in trouble,” Lisbon explained.

“I’m making up for it now. I bought you a French press.”

“I didn’t want a French press.”

“Just wait until you’ve tasted the coffee.”

Lisbon stood up again, took a mug out of a cupboard and started to pour herself a cup of coffee. Jane let the spatula drop into the pan.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting coffee?”

“Not like that.” Jane sighed and shook his head. “You have to push it down first.” He took the French press out of Lisbon’s hand and pushed down the plunger. “There. Now you can pour it.”

“Thanks,” Lisbon said. Again, she started to pour the coffee, but Jane interrupted her again.

“Wait.”

“What is it now?” Lisbon asked, starting to get annoyed. She was easily agitated before her first cup of coffee in the morning.

Jane cupped her cheek with his hand and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “There. Now you can have your coffee.”

Lisbon blinked slowly, trying to adjust to this new situation. Everything was the same, yet everything had changed. They were teasing each other and the next minute they were kissing. It would take her some time to get used to it, but she would enjoy every step of the way.

The mug of steaming coffee in her hand grounded her. Carefully, she took a sip and was surprised by how good it tasted. Continuing to sip the coffee, she remained standing next to Jane, watching him stir the scrambled eggs slowly. He had even made himself a cup of tea, which must have come from the same place as the French press because Lisbon was sure she didn’t own any.

Jane divided the eggs between two plates, rinsed out the pan, and turned off the radio. “Sit down,” he told Lisbon over his shoulder.

Lisbon did as she was told, watching him season the eggs with fresh herbs she also hadn’t owned before this morning. With a sweeping motion, Jane sat down one plate in front of her, and handed her a fork. Then he took the place opposite her. Lisbon’s kitchen was tiny, and the table was even tinier, so their legs brushed against each other whenever one of them moved.

“Bon appétit!” Jane said.

Lisbon carefully tasted a bit of the eggs, and then a bit more. “This is really good,” she commended him.

“Thank you,” he said, smiling proudly.

Lisbon wolfed down the eggs, ignoring the smug look on Jane’s face. He took his time and was only halfway done when Lisbon dropped her fork onto the empty plate.

“So, what happened?” she asked before she could think better of it.

“You really don’t remember, do you?” Jane said between two bites.

“Did we … you know?” Lisbon prompted, not looking at Jane directly.

Jane reached across the table with his free hand and placed it on Lisbon’s. “What if we did?” he asked carefully.

Lisbon’s heart sank. “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I think I would like to be able to remember it.”

Jane lightly ran his thumb across the back of Lisbon’s hand. “We didn’t,” he said.

“Oh,” Lisbon made, somehow relieved and disappointed at the same time. She watched Jane’s thumb move across her hand. “And your neck?”

“It wasn’t because we didn’t want to,” Jane continued. “Believe me, I wanted to. You are … you are quite something, Teresa Lisbon.”

Lisbon looked up at him and was floored by the look he gave her. She had seen it the previous evening, before he had kissed her. “Why didn’t we?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper.

“I didn’t want our first time to be like this,” Jane explained slowly, watching her carefully. “We were both drunk, too drunk. I wanted to make sure we were both on the same page. And it’s a good thing too, I would like you to remember it.”

Lisbon swallowed. Her throat suddenly felt dry. “You actually thought about what you want our first time to be like?”

The expression on Jane’s face changed, there was want in his gaze again. “More than once,” he admitted.

Lisbon swallowed again, cleared her throat. “How did you imagine it to go?”

“A good magician never reveals his greatest trick.”

Lisbon giggled. “You would say that, wouldn’t you? I wasn’t the one begging yesterday.”

“Begging? Was I begging?” Jane asked. “That’s a strong word to use.”

Lisbon cocked an eyebrow and smirked, then leaned forward, and grabbed the collar of Jane’s shirt, just like she had done the night before. Their lips met, the kiss slow and deliberate; they took their time exploring each other. Lisbon brushed her thumb against Jane’s jawline, feeling the stubble there, he tangled his hand in her hair and held her in place. It felt right.

“You’re a good kisser,” Jane mumbled against Lisbon’s lips.

“Is that a compliment?”

“Don’t sound so surprised. I compliment you all the time.”

“Telling me I look like a princess when I'm wearing a horrible pink dress isn’t a compliment.”

“It is to me.”

“Next time you can wear the dress and we’ll see who looks like a princess.”

Jane laughed. “Well, if you’re into that sort of thing …”

“You always need to have the last word, don’t you?”

“Just when I’m talking to you.”

Lisbon brought their lips together again to shut him up. She could feel him smirk, so she bit his lip lightly, then stood up.

“Hey, where’re you going?” Jane protested.

“I’ll be right back,” Lisbon assured him, already halfway out of the kitchen.

She found the clutch she had had with her the previous night on the couch and took out her wallet. The five-dollar bill Jane had given her was still there.

Jane looked at her expectantly when she came back.

“Here,” she said, extending her hand with the bill in it, “I think this belongs to you.”

Jane suddenly looked sad. “Lisbon,” he said slowly. What had happened to _Teresa_?

“Or I can keep it,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Come here,” he said, taking her wrist and pulling her close, burying his face in her jersey. She brushed her hand through his hair. “We should talk,” he said finally, the words lingering in the quietness of the kitchen.

Lisbon swallowed around the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat. It was just like her to ruin them, even before they had actually become a _them_ worth ruining. She felt her eyes burn with hot tears and swiped at them angrily. She would not cry because of Patrick Jane. Or if she did, she wouldn’t let him see it.

“Lisbon,” he said. Then, “Teresa.”

Lisbon took a deep breath, trying to disguise a sob. She was sure Jane could feel it nevertheless; he was still holding her tight.

“Please, sit down.”

Lisbon did as she was told but refused to look at him.

“Yesterday, you asked me to be honest with you,” he continued. “I really need you to listen to me carefully and trust me.”

Lisbon nodded, her lips tightly pressed together, terrified of what he would say next.

Instead of continuing, Jane reached out and took her hand in his again. He squeezed it, then pressed a kiss against it. “I want you, Teresa Lisbon,” he said. “If it were up to me, I would leave everything behind and follow you wherever you want to go. But it’s not.”

“No, it’s not,” Lisbon echoed.

They were both thinking it.

“Red John, he’s still out there. And as long as he is, I can’t let anyone allow to come close to me,” Jane continued. “I wish I could. I wish I was brave enough. But I’m not. I care about you, Teresa. And if I should lose you too, I … I’m not sure I could survive it.”

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Lisbon said, hoping her voice wouldn’t break. “You don’t have to go through this alone. I could be there with you every step of the way.”

“No,” Jane declined her offer. Then he added, “Last night … you gave me a taste of what I could have if Red John wasn’t a part of my life anymore. It was more than I could have hoped for. And don’t think for one second that I regret it. I don’t. And if I could do it again, I wouldn’t change a thing about it.”

“Listen, I don’t care that you’re trying to be a martyr,” Lisbon snapped at him. “Red John is just a man; you don’t have to put your whole life on hold because of him.”

“I’m not,” Jane said calmly. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I’m thinking about my life after Red John. For the first time since …,” he stopped. “I’ve never done this before. I always assumed my life would end when his did. But this,” he gestured, “this is something worth fighting for.”

“ _This_ ,” Lisbon repeated. “You can’t even say it.”

“You,” Jane corrected himself. “ _You_ are worth fighting for. And if you wait for me, I promise you I’ll be there once Red John is gone.”

Lisbon snorted. “That’s a lot to ask.”

“I know,” Jane nodded. “I know I’m asking too much of you. But now that I’ve had a taste of you, I refuse to let you go unless you tell me to.”

Lisbon thought about it. “It could be years until you catch up with Red John.”

“I know.”

“You’re asking me to put my entire life on hold until then.”

“I know.”

“No, I won’t do it.”

It was obvious Jane hadn’t expected this answer. He looked as if she had slapped him and drew back his hand.

“You heard me, no,” she repeated. “I refuse to live like this, waiting for you, worrying about you, living in constant fear of you getting killed. You’re not the only one who’s scared of losing someone they care about. If I say yes, you’re just going to continue this stupid hunt for Red John, you’re going to shut me out again, and I won’t have it.”

“Lisbon,” he said hesitantly.

But now she had started, the words came spilling out of her. “I’ve been worried sick about you. Every time you vanish without a trace, I expect the next call to be someone telling me they found your body in some ditch. You act as if you care about me, but if you really did, you wouldn’t make me go through this constantly.”

“Lisbon, I want to have a life with you, but I can’t do that as long as Red John is still out there.”

“What about what I want?” Lisbon was shouting now.

“What do you want?”

His calmness infuriated Lisbon even more. “I want you to let me in, for fuck’s sake!”

“I am letting you in, Lisbon.”

“No, you’re not! You’re talking about how you care about me, but it’s all about you, really. _You_ don’t want to lose me, _you_ want to have a life. _You_ …” Just as quickly as her outburst had started, it ebbed away.

Jane had jumped out of his chair and was kneeling in front of Lisbon, one hand on her knee, the other brushing away tears Lisbon hadn’t felt running down her cheeks until now. “I’m sorry,” he whispered over and over again.

“Stop saying that,” she said, pushing his hand away.

“I’m going to let you in, I promise,” he said. “From now on, you’re going to be there with me every step of the way. You’re going to know what I know, I’m going to tell you what I’m doing, who I’m seeing, what I’m planning to do. Just please, wait for me.”

Lisbon licked her lips, tasting salt. She nodded. “ _Every_ step,” she repeated. “You’re not going to chase after Red John on your own. You need to promise me that.”

“I promise,” he said.

“Then I will wait for you,” she agreed, “no matter how long it takes.”

“All right,” he said, attempting a small smile. “We’re gonna be all right, I promise.”

“Be careful not to make any promises you can’t keep.”

“I will keep them. Cross my heart.”

Lisbon nodded. “Come here,” she said, pulling him off the floor. She kissed him, trying to memorize what his lips felt like against hers, how his tongue felt in her mouth, the taste he left behind. She tried to remember the way his kisses made her feel, the way they made her heart beat faster, her body ache with longing. And from the way he kissed her back she could tell he was doing the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway, [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rd5Sa3t5xfA) is the song Jane was listening to on the radio.


	7. A Word Out of Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane suspects some things and he doesn't tell Lisbon about them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I've said before the last chapter, we're slowly getting back to the case now and Jane has a suspicion who the Red Road Killer might be.

Jane was sitting in his car which was parked outside the _California Observer_. It was a nondescript glass tower where several companies had their offices. Nothing set it apart from the other office buildings around it. Even the cars in the parking lot looked boring; they were mostly black SUVs and blue station wagons. Jane’s hands clutched the steering wheel, as he watched people going in and out of the building, waiting for David Stapleton. He had left half an hour ago, and Jane would remain right where he was until the journalist got back.

Lisbon didn’t know he was here. Technically, he had only agreed to inform her about what he was doing when he was dealing with Red John. He would tell her eventually what was going on, but first he had to figure out a couple of aspects about Stapleton and the case on his own. Last Friday night Jane had learned two very important things. One was what kissing Lisbon would do to him. If they had both been less drunk, he would have let her continue what they had started at the party and on her couch. He had wanted her more than anything else that night, even more than finally catching Red John. She had made him forget his lust for revenge and replaced it with a very different kind of lust, one that could only be satisfied by kissing her, touching her, making her squirm and moan, and be touched and kissed by her in return. Thinking about it now, even after he had made her cry – which he hadn’t intended to do –, brought a smile to his face.

Jane tried not to think too much about the last couple of days. Whenever he did, he remembered how Lisbon had let herself be kissed by him, and then had even returned the kiss. That Saturday morning in Lisbon’s kitchen had been the happiest he had experienced in over nine years. He was careful not to overdo it, but whenever the memory came up in his mind, he allowed himself to relive the happy feelings her kisses and touches and words had given him. He also didn’t regret a single thing about the weekend, and he hoped Lisbon didn’t either.

The most stunning thing to him was that she returned his feelings. He had suspected she might have a crush on him, which wouldn’t have been surprising, not because he thought he was such a great catch, but because he was very aware of the effect he had on women and how he could use this to his advantage. But he would never use Lisbon like this, and especially not now that he knew she was a little bit in love with him. It frightened him. He was scared of her feelings for him, and he was scared of his feelings for her. Nothing had made him happier than her finally admitting she felt the same way, but it had been too soon; he wasn’t ready for it yet, and that was the reason why he had pushed her away. Seeing her hurt and in tears, angry with him (and with herself), had almost been too much for him and he had almost given in. He still regretted having made that stupid deal with her, he wanted to be with her, but his feelings scared him too much to be able to fully admit this to himself. It wasn’t fair he was hurting her along the way, but at least it kept her safe from Red John. Because if Red John hurt her in any way, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

What he had said to her was the truth: He could finally imagine a life for himself after Red John. Involving her in the Red John case wasn’t ideal, it put her in the line of danger, but when he earned her trust with small gestures here and there, he would be able to go after Red John alone, like he had always intended. He hoped Lisbon would be able to forgive him once it was over. He couldn’t put her in danger, especially now that he’d had a taste of the life he could have with her – she would understand that. And anyway, before he could focus on Red John again, he had to take care of the Red Road Killer first. He would use the time this gave him to get Lisbon to trust him.

The other thing he had realized was that there was definitely something off about Stapleton, and it went beyond his sociopathic streak. This was why he was here this morning – he needed to talk to Stapleton alone to confirm a few suspicions which had matured over the weekend. Jane recalled another aspect about Friday evening, a less happy one – Stapleton’s eyes roaming over Lisbon, his hands touching her, his voice whispering god knows what in her ear. It had come to him on Sunday morning when he had woken up alone in his small room in the attic: Lisbon did look like the women the Red Road Killer was after. He still shuddered when he thought about how close Stapleton had sat to Lisbon, how he had draped his arm across the backrest of her chair. After observing this, Jane had realized Stapleton was the Red Road Killer, and he also knew what his motive was. Once had had proof for his suspicion, he would inform Lisbon and the team. If he did it right, and he had no doubt about that, Stapleton would be behind bars this evening.

When Jane finally spotted Stapleton walking into the building, he straightened his collar in the rearview mirror, then got out of his car, and briskly walked toward the entrance, trying to catch up with Stapleton before he would reach the elevators going up to the offices.

“Mr. Stapleton,” he tried to alert the other man to his presence, jogging toward him.

Stapleton, who was already in the elevator, held open the doors for Jane. “Mr. Jane, I didn’t expect to see you here,” he said, smiling at Jane. “Did we have an appointment?” Stapleton looked tired this morning; his shirt was crumpled, his hair was ruffled and there were shadows under his eyes. But the look he gave Jane was alert and guarded.

“I hope I don’t need one,” Jane answered, returning the smile.

“Of course not,” Stapleton answered quickly. “I’m just forgetful, that’s why I asked. To spare me the embarrassment.”

A woman who was also standing in the elevator, glared at them. “Excuse me, do you mind?”

“Sorry,” Stapleton apologized, indicating to Jane he should join him with a wave of his hand.

Jane jumped inside, and the doors closed. “Do you have a few minutes for me? I have some questions about the case,” Jane explained.

“I was about to go on my lunch break, but you can keep me company,” Stapleton answered.

“Thanks,” Jane said, crossing his arms behind his back and rocking back and forth on his heels, watching the numbers on the display in the elevator climb, until they reached the tenth level and the doors opened.

“Please, after you,” Stapleton said, and Jane stepped out of the elevator and right into the busy offices of a newspaper.

People were running around, carrying stacks of papers, coffee cups, even a bouquet of flowers. They were shouting into phones, shouting at each other, making notes on pads and computers. A woman stared at a blank screen, a coffee cup in her hand. A man stared out of the window, while his colleague gestured wildly, talking to him in a low voice. Jane was reminded of the CBI offices, only no one seemed to be in charge and everyone looked as if they were close to a breakdown.

Stapleton pushed past him. “My office is right over there.” He pointed at a door to the left side of the bullpen.

“Your own office? Fancy,” Jane said, pretending to be impressed.

“Well, I am the deputy editor-in-chief,” Stapleton told him, as they were walking across the bullpen to his office.

“Is that difficult work?” Jane asked. It was an attempt to get Stapleton to talk without his guard up. Despite acting friendly, Jane could see that the journalist chose his words very carefully.

“Not if you love doing it,” Stapleton replied with a smirk, unlocking his office door and holding it open for Jane.

Jane stepped inside and looked around. Stapleton’s desk was untidy, most of it was covered in papers and old editions of the newspaper. There was a small stack of used mugs on the windowsill behind it, and the shelf on the left-hand side of the desk looked as if it hadn’t been cleared out in several years. The view from the window was only of the office building opposite. The room was small and stuffy, the air tasted stale. Apart from Stapleton’s own chair there was just one other, standing in front of the desk, but it was used as a storage place for two boxes full of documents.

“Sorry for the mess,” Stapleton apologized. He pushed past Jane and heaved the boxes out of the chair and onto the floor. “Do you want some coffee?”

“Just water, please,” Jane answered, carefully stepping across the boxes to sit down in the chair.

Stapleton carelessly threw his leather satchel onto his desk. “All right, I’ll be right back,” he told Jane and left the office.

Jane had hoped for such an opportunity; he immediately pulled Stapleton’s satchel to him and opened it. The journalist kept a phone in there, along with some files, a packed lunch, and a book that looked used. Nothing of interest, nothing that would incriminate him. A quick search of the desk also didn’t yield any results, there were just papers and books lying around, no evidence. Jane had to admit Stapleton was good, he almost made him doubt his theory. But it would take more than that to throw Jane off the scent.

By the time Stapleton got back, Jane was done with the search and was back in the chair, looking out of the window at the other office building, pretending to be in deep thought.

“There you go,” Stapleton said, handing him a glass of tap water. Then he sat down in the other chair behind the desk and pulled out the packed lunch Jane had found earlier.

“Packed lunch?” Jane asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Yes, my wife insists,” Stapleton answered with an apologetic smile. “She says it’s healthier than eating out.” He unpacked a sandwich and took a bite. “So, what can I do for you?”

“Oh, I just have a couple of simple questions,” Jane said with a dismissive wave of his hand, “just about the case and your connection to it.” He took a sip of his water, which allowed him to pause for dramatic effect to get a reaction out of Stapleton.

The the journalist only nodded. “Sure, go ahead.”

“Why do you do it?”

Stapleton’s cheek twitched, but if Jane hadn’t been looking for a sign like this, it would have been almost unnoticeable. “Do what?” Stapleton took another bite of his sandwich.

“Write about serial killers,” Jane clarified.

“I believe I already told you. I think the public –”

Jane interrupted him. “Has a right to know, I know. But some of your colleagues told us a different story.”

“Who?” Stapleton wanted to know.

“Now, correct me if I’m wrong, Mr. Stapleton, I’m no journalist myself, but you’re under a lot of pressure, aren’t you? It’s a competitive field to be working in.” Jane deliberately kept his body relaxed, his expression open and understanding, signaling Stapleton that he was genuinely interested in his everyday work.

“Yes, it is,” Stapleton confirmed, “and not just within your own office, but especially between the different publications. You always need to be the first newspaper to have a story if you want to sell copies.”

“And do serial killers sell copies?”

“Oh yes,” Stapleton nodded. “Especially if you’re the only one who has the story.”

“And the journalist who writes about the serial killer, would he – or she – theoretically become famous?” Jane pressed. Then he took another sip of water.

Stapleton cleaned his hands on a napkin and avoided making eye contact with Jane. “Depends on what you mean by famous, but they would definitely win some prizes and maybe get better job offers,” Stapleton answered thoughtfully.

Jane grinned at Stapleton triumphantly. “That’s the reason you’re doing this, isn’t it?”

“Well, in parts,” Stapleton admitted hesitantly.

“No, it’s the _only_ reason,” Jane contradicted him. “It’s lucky, really, that a serial killer came along the moment your career was going downhill.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m lucky when people die –,” Stapleton started but Jane continued to talk.

“Yes, you were lucky, especially since the Red Road Killer wasn’t a real serial killer, not until last week, anyway. But you put _a lot_ of effort into the case two years ago and you were very quick to call the murders the work of a serial killer, even though there were just two which appeared to be similar. Still, your work got you a lot of attention.”

A shadow passed over Stapleton’s face. “Sure, people love reading about serial killers.”

“I’m sure someone like you must know the definition of what a serial killer is but let me enlighten you: It’s someone who kills _three_ or more people. But you were very quick to identify the Red Road Killer as one, way before his third victim, and to build a myth around him. What did you know no one else knew about?”

Stapleton didn’t answer.

Jane leaned forward slowly until he could almost touch the desk. He tried to make Stapleton uncomfortable, but the other man didn’t move a muscle. “Two years ago, you had been fired from your old job for making up a story. And the _California Observer_ only took you on after you sold them the story of a murder in San Francisco. Then suddenly there was a second case, and you started to claim it was the work of a serial killer. But the Red Road Killer stopped after two victims. Do you want to guess why there wasn’t a third one or should I tell you?”

“Maybe the killer got scared of getting caught?” Stapleton offered cautiously.

“Or maybe he had achieved what he had wanted to achieve: to give you a stable job and the role of an expert.”

Stapleton’s jaw tightened. The sandwich lay forgotten in front of him on the desk. “Are you saying I’m conspiring with the Red Road Killer to further my career?”

Jane ignored the question. “Then suddenly, a couple of weeks ago, there came the news the _California Observer_ needed to save money, there were talks of cutting back a couple of middle management positions and – boom! – the Red Road Killer was back.” On _boom_ Jane hit the top of Stapleton’s desk with his open palm.

Stapleton didn’t flinch. “I know what you’re doing. You and Agent Lisbon have reached a dead end with this case because the Red Road Killer is too quick, too cunning for you, and now you’re putting the blame on the first person you can think of.”

Jane smirked. “I’m not blaming you for anything, I’m simply stating facts. You should try doing that in your articles, Mr. Stapleton, then you wouldn’t get fired.”

Stapleton remained completely calm. “Yes, I’m sorry. It’s not a fact you’re trying to bring the Red Road Killer in connection to me because you can’t find who’s really doing this because no matter how corrupt our law enforcement system is, they wouldn’t sink that low. It’s just you. And I know why you’re doing it.” Now it was Stapleton’s turn to lean forward to crowd into Jane’s personal space. “The fact is Agent Lisbon doesn’t know you’re here. The fact is you’re trying to frame me because you’re in love with her, and you’re jealous of me.”

“The fact is you’re the Red Road Killer,” Jane said calmly.

After that, it was all a blur.

* * *

Lisbon’s phone was ringing. When she saw it was Jane calling her, her heart skipped a beat. They hadn’t spoken since he had left her house on Saturday afternoon. Sunday had given Lisbon a lot of time to think about what had happened between them. On the one hand, it was something she had wanted for a long time, but she had always pushed her desires away because she knew Jane wasn’t ready to be in a relationship until Red John was gone. But it had felt so right. It had felt as if they had already wasted too much time finding excuse not to be together. In her mind, she went back to Saturday morning all the time to relive the happiness she had felt. She saw Jane standing in her kitchen, looking as if he belonged there. And in a way he did, he always had. She thought about how he had gotten up early to buy groceries, how he had made breakfast for her, how he had teased her and kissed her softly, and it was all she had ever wanted.

On the other hand, going back to Saturday morning meant she had to live with a pain in her chest that nothing could soothe. She felt heartbroken; here she was, ready to be with Jane, not running from her feelings anymore, wanting – needing – to be close to him, but he had pushed her away. Lisbon had spent all of Sunday thinking about what _she_ wanted, and she had realized she didn’t want to wait, she wanted to be with him right now. The only problem was he had made it clear he didn’t want her, not at the moment, anyway. So she had to live with the next best thing: He had promised her to let her help him with his hunt for Red John. He wasn’t going to shut her out again. And she finally had some leverage to push him to share his plans with her. This way she could make sure he didn’t get himself into a no-win situation with Red John. Being able to watch over him made the whole situation bearable.

Still, how did he expect her to wait for him after she had realized how much they had already missed? Seeing his name on her phone screen brought all the feelings she had tried to bottle up while at work back. For a brief moment, she imagined they had decided to give this a try and were dating now. She would have blushed, seeing his name, maybe her heart would have beaten faster, maybe her breath would have caught in her throat. But now she only felt sad and heartbroken and she didn’t want to examine it too closely. At least his call gave her time to test how she would react to hearing his voice first before seeing him again in person.

Lisbon took a deep breath, then picked up the phone. “Jane.” She tried to make her voice sound indifferent, so Jane wouldn’t be able to pick up on her inner turmoil.

“Hey,” he said, sounding as if he had a cold.

The last time he had said ‘hey’ to her, he had been standing in her kitchen, cooking breakfast for her. She couldn’t understand how such a small word triggered so many emotions in her, feelings of warmth and happiness, but also of heartache and longing. She shook her head to get rid of the memory.

“You okay? You sound like you’re sick,” she said instead of telling him what hearing his voice did to her.

“You need to promise me you’re not going to be angry,” Jane said carefully.

Lisbon closed her eyes, then opened them again slowly. “What did you do?”

“Promise me first,” Jane insisted.

“Jane …,” she said, a threatening undertone in her voice.

“I went to speak to Stapleton … and then his hand slipped,” Jane finally said.

Lisbon pinched the ridge of her nose, closing her eyes again. “What did you say to him?”

“It was nothing, really, it’s not important. I just thought I should call you before you hear it from someone else,” Jane said quickly.

Lisbon had expected that it wouldn’t be so easy for him anymore to drive her up the wall after what had happened between them. She had been wrong. She felt just as angry as always when he did something that could potentially jeopardize a case. “You get back here right now,” she ordered. “No detours.”

“You sound angry, don’t –,” Jane started.

Lisbon hung up.


	8. Her Achilles' Heel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane and Lisbon come up with a plan to catch Stapleton, but will it work?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I knew from the start that one chapter had to be called "Her Achilles' Heel" and here it is.

There was dry blood on Jane’s face and on the collar of his shirt. He looked ruffled and tired, but his eyes were gleaming like they always did when he was close to solving a case. When he walked into her office, Lisbon almost jumped out of her chair and rushed to him, but then she remembered she was supposed to be angry with him. She saw him and felt too many things at once, making it impossible for her to decide on a proper reaction. She felt longing, she felt concern, she felt anger, she wished she could pull him close and kiss him, she wanted to punch him. Finally, she decided to be angry.

“Would you please go and clean up,” she snapped at him.

“I thought you wanted to see me right away,” he said, attempting a smile. “No detours.”

“Not like this.”

“I could use your help … Nurse Lisbon.”

She glared at him. “Go.”

He was back ten minutes later, his face clean, his shirt still stained, a pack of ice pressed against his nose. Lisbon told him to close the door behind him, and he did as he was told. Again, she fought down the urge to hug him.

“Tell me what happened.”

“Can I lie down? I have a headache.”

“You can lie down when I say you can,” Lisbon said, considering too late how it might sound.

Jane didn’t counter it but sat down opposite Lisbon. Lisbon was taken back to the last time they had sat across from each other at this desk, when he had held her hand, trying to get her to admit she had feelings for him, but her anger still triumphed.

“Tell me what happened,” she repeated.

“Stapleton punched me,” Jane said with a shrug, lowering the pack of ice.

“Why?”

“Do you want the long version or the short one?”

“Just tell me.”

“I was trying to confirm a theory, and it worked. I solved your case.” Jane looked proud with himself.

“How? What theory?” Lisbon was contemplating reminding him of his promise to be honest with her, but technically this case wasn’t about Red John. She didn’t need to insist anyway, because Jane proceeded to tell her.

“Stapleton is the Red Road Killer.”

Lisbon snorted. “Him? Please!”

“Yes.” Jane looked serious.

Lisbon wondered briefly if he wasn’t pulling her leg. “Stapleton came to us and offered us his help,” she reminded him. “He gave us everything he had collected on the Red Road Killer.”

“He’s a sociopath who kills women to advance his career.”

“Wait a minute,” Lisbon stopped him. “Think about what you’re saying. It sounds crazy.”

“I’m sure, and I’m going to prove it. You need to trust me on this.”

“I want to trust you, but you’re not making it easy for me.” A thought occurred to Lisbon, and she tried to push it away because it would be unfair to ask Jane this, but the thought was persistent, nudging at the edges of her mind. “How long have you had this suspicion?”

“It occurred to me last Friday.”

Just as she had feared. “And why didn’t you come to me straight away? You don’t need to go off on your own to prove your theories. If you tell me he’s guilty, that’s enough for me.”

“Then trust me, that’s all I’m asking of you,” Jane insisted.

There it was again, the intrusive thought she was trying to get rid of. It had almost reached the tip of her tongue, so she hurried to say, “Explain it to me, then.”

“He lost his job two years ago, shortly before the first murder, and he got the one with the _California Observer_ after reporting on it. And now his career has hit a dead end again, and suddenly there’s another victim. Lisbon,” the way he said her name made her shiver involuntarily, “I talked to him today, I saw it written all over his face, he’s an open book to me. He lost the job two years ago because he made up a story; that’s his weak spot. Now he does everything he can to make sure his stories are based on facts, even if it means killing people.”

Lisbon laughed, but it sounded hollow.

“Lisbon, please.” He leaned forward, reaching out his hand as if he meant to touch hers, but pulled it back again. “Trust me.”

“I think your judgement is clouded. I think you want him to be the killer because you still think I have feelings for him.” The intrusive thought she had fought so hard to contain was out, hanging in the air between them like a toxic cloud.

The pack of ice slipped from Jane’s hand and hit the floor with a dull thud. “That’s not at all what this is about.”

Lisbon wished she could take it back, but it was too late. “Jane, I told you before, I don’t like him … _like that_. You keep asking me to trust you with this case, so I’m asking you to trust me when I tell you I’m not interested in Stapleton in the slightest.”

“I’m … I wasn’t even thinking about that anymore,” Jane defended himself. “Why would you think I was?”

Lisbon shrugged. “I don’t know, I was thinking, maybe … you know, even though we promised each other … maybe you don’t trust me to keep up my side of the bargain and you’re trying to get rid of the man you think is your competition.”

“What are you talking about? What competition?” Jane had raised his voice, a sign he was getting angry. “Stapleton is the Red Road Killer, I’m one hundred percent sure of it. And it has nothing to you with my feelings for you.”

“Then why didn’t you come to me and tell me before you went to confront him?” Lisbon wanted to know. “We are supposed to be partners.”

“Yeah, and partners are supposed to trust each other.”

Lisbon sighed in frustration. “Because you have such a great track record of trusting me.”

Jane stood up, and for one moment Lisbon was scared he would storm out of her office, but he just walked over to her couch and let himself sink into it, putting distance between them. For some reason, this action hurt Lisbon more than if he had ended the conversation.

“Yes,” Jane said slowly, avoiding eye contact with Lisbon. “You’re the one person I trust completely.”

Lisbon snorted.

“I do,” Jane said with emphasis. “If I ever gave you reason to doubt that, I’m sorry.”

“The way you see yourself and the actions you take are two very different things. I don’t think you’re capable of trusting anyone, not really.”

“You know what?” Jane stood up abruptly, making Lisbon jump. “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe you do have feelings for Stapleton, or you wouldn’t find it so hard to believe me.”

Then he was at the door, hand on the handle.

“Jane, wait.” Lisbon had stood up as well. If this had been a normal fight, she would have let him walk away. But nothing was normal between them anymore. Everything was more intense. And not just the good feelings. She needed to be careful not to break this new thing between them. There was something new there, no matter what they had agreed on. They couldn’t go back to treating each other like they had just a couple of days ago, like nine years together as colleagues and friends had taught them to. The stakes were too high. They made each other happier now. And when they wanted to hurt each other, their words hit home, too.

Lisbon walked up to him and took his hand away from the handle, entwining their fingers. “I didn’t mean that.”

“I know,” Jane said, still not looking at her.

“Would you please look at me?” Briefly, she thought about cupping his cheek, but she held herself back.

Jane raised his head and looked at her.

“I know you trust me,” she said slowly, trying to mend what her words had broken. “I shouldn’t have said it. I was just upset with you because you didn’t tell me about your suspicions earlier.”

“Can we sit down?” Jane asked.

Lisbon nodded and they sat down on the couch, leaving space between them.

“I’m sorry, too,” Jane said. “I know you don’t like Stapleton.”

“This isn’t really about him, is it?” Lisbon asked with a sigh. “This is about us.”

“I suppose so.” Jane reached across the divide between them and took Lisbon’s hand.

“Will we be okay?” she asked quietly. She had thought it wouldn’t be too hard to go back to being normal with each other, that it might even be easier now they had acknowledged there was something between them and had come to an understanding. But now she realized that ‘normal’ was off the table for good. They hadn’t even managed to talk about a case without being at each other’s throats, not because of a professional difference, but because they wanted to push the other to do something, anything that would break the agreement. Lisbon had thought going back to being friends would be the best solution until they could be with each other, but now she had to discover she wanted to be with Jane so much her heart was broken and this whole situation was eating her up from the inside.

Jane offered her a small smile. “We have to be. This is just something new we have to get used to. It’ll get easier soon.” He squeezed her hand.

“What if I change my mind?” Lisbon asked quietly. “What if we just give it a try?” She leaned in closer to him as if she wanted to kiss him.

“No.”

Lisbon flinched. She hadn’t expected him to turn her down so quickly. Jane must have felt the same when she had initially rejected his proposal on Saturday morning.

“I agreed to let you help me with Red John, but it can’t go any further than that.”

She had no idea why she didn’t just walk away. Here was her chance, her way out of the deal. She could take it back now, tell him to go ahead and let himself get killed, tell him she couldn’t live like this. He was even offering her a way out. It would be easy, she just had to say, “I can’t do this”.

But she didn’t. Because the chance of being with him in the future was better than the thought of letting him go, no matter what they put each other through on the way.

“But you’re right,” Jane went on. “I keep asking you to trust me, but I’m still keeping things from you.”

Then he told her about Stapleton, about their conversation, about how they would be able to prove his guilt. And suddenly it was as if they were working a case, just like they had always done. Lisbon listened to his explanation, asking the right questions at the right time, and by the end of it she was convinced Stapleton was their man.

“I’m gonna ask him to come in,” she said, feeling the thrill of the chase. “We’re gonna get a confession out of him. But I need you there with me.”

“Yes, of course,” Jane agreed. He smirked at her. “You know how much I love watching you take down bad guys.”

Lisbon glared at him, but she was also fighting down a smile. “I mean it, Jane. I can’t do it without you.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be there.”

* * *

Lisbon paced around her office, her eyes on her watch. It was almost nine, Stapleton would be here any minute. After her talk with Jane the previous evening, she had called Stapleton on the number he had given her and asked him to come in the next day. Jane had insisted she made it sound as if she was just trying to have a friendly chat with him, so he wouldn’t get suspicious, and she thought she had pulled it off well. Stapleton had agreed to meet with her before he had to be at work, and after Lisbon had hung up, she had reminded Jane of his promise to be there.

Only Jane wasn’t here yet. Lisbon had tried calling him, but his phone had gone straight to voicemail. So far, she wasn’t too concerned by it. Their conversation the previous evening had made her realize she needed to trust him more, no matter how difficult it was for her to trust anyone.

This new resolution held in place even when Rigsby knocked on her door and told her Stapleton had arrived.

“Put him in interrogation,” Lisbon ordered.

If Rigsby was confused by this, he didn’t let it show. “Yes, boss.”

Lisbon decided to wait another ten minutes, and then she would get started on the interrogation slowly, giving Jane time to catch up with them once he arrived. Maybe traffic was bad this morning, maybe there had been an accident and he was stuck. Whatever it was, Jane would have a good excuse for keeping her waiting.

The ten minutes came and went, and there was still no sign of him. She called him again, but there was still no answer, so she decided to start with the interrogation. The longer she waited, the harder it would be to catch Stapleton unawares. On the way to the interrogation room, she stopped at Van Pelt’s desk and told her to send Jane to her as soon as he arrived. Then she steeled herself for what she was about to do, and stepped into the dimly light room she had spent so many hours in.

The previous evening, she and Jane had come up with a plan to get Stapleton to confess. She would start with some simple questions about his career, and if he brought up his conversation with Jane, she would tell him it was her job to follow up on Jane’s theories, but it was nothing more than that. Jane would wait in the next room, watching through the glass window. He was sure if Lisbon asked enough questions about the story Stapleton had made up two years ago, it would get him to lower his guard.

And finally, Lisbon would question the existence of the Red Road Killer. She would tell Stapleton they had evidence the killings were unrelated, there was no serial killer, and Stapleton had, once again, made a mistake. Jane expected him to crack then, wanting to prove the stories were true, and that was when they would get him.

Only now Jane wasn’t there, and Lisbon had to stall Stapleton until he arrived.

“Mr. Stapleton,” she said, “good morning.” She smiled and sat down opposite him. It went against her instincts as an officer of the law to be nice to Stapleton. She much preferred a tough approach when dealing with murderers, but Jane had convinced her to continue to act friendly toward their suspect. It was just part of the plan, she told herself, running a hand through her hair.

And Lisbon had one specific reason to heed Jane’s request: He wanted to use her as bait. After all, she looked like the women Stapleton usually made his victims. They didn’t yet know if he picked the women for a reason that went deeper than trying to create a profile for a serial killer, but it wouldn’t hurt if Lisbon pretended to be friendly toward him. In any case, they hoped Stapleton would be distracted by Lisbon. That Jane had told her she would be bait and had asked her if she agreed to it had convinced her to do it. Usually, he only revealed his plans after the fact. But she had only agreed when she had thought he would be there to watch over her.

“Before we begin, I wanted to thank you for last Friday night,” Lisbon went on. “I had a great time.”

“No problem,” Stapleton said, “but you vanished so suddenly. I had hoped we could talk some more.”

“Yeah, something important came up.”

“So, what can I do for you?” Stapleton asked. “Is there a problem?”

“I just have a couple of follow-up questions for you, nothing serious, just standard procedure.” She said it quickly, too quickly.

“Fire away,” Stapleton said.

“When did you start working for the _California Observer_?” Lisbon asked.

“About two years ago.”

“And before that?”

“Before that I worked for a newspaper in San Francisco.”

“And why did you stop working there?”

“There were some … _creative_ differences,” Stapleton said slowly. For the first time, he looked at Lisbon cautiously. His smile had gone.

“What kind of differences?” Lisbon asked.

“You’ve been talking to Mr. Jane, haven’t you?”

Lisbon swallowed. She hadn’t expected him to catch on quite so fast. The look Stapleton gave her made her question the plan. It wasn’t a dangerous look, he just seemed to be angry and hurt. She hoped he wouldn’t suddenly storm off; they had to make sure to keep him there until they got a confession out of him, because they didn’t have any actual evidence to arrest him yet.

“Yes,” she admitted. “He told me about your … conversation yesterday. I’m just following up on some of the things he told me.”

“And I’m going to tell you what I told him,” Stapleton said in a low voice, leaning forward. “You’re trying to frame me because you don’t have any other suspects. It’s an act of desperation. But I’m not surprised. You would blame a journalist, wouldn’t you? You’re terrified of the free press.”

“Mr. Stapleton, please,” Lisbon tried to appease him, “no one is accusing you of anything. I’m just trying to clear up a few things. If you are innocent, you have nothing to fear.”

“You know, this is the reason why there’s so much crime in this country. You police officers are just an incompetent bunch of slackers!”

“We’re doing our jobs, that’s what this is,” Lisbon shot back. “ _You_ are incompetent!” Then she realized he had only tried to provoke her, the same thing she had been trying to do to him.

“You know, Mr. Jane tried the same trick on me,” Stapleton said calmly. “You are so desperate to close this case you’ll go to any lengths to do it. Only Mr. Jane wasn’t quite so inept.”

Lisbon felt her face flush with anger. And then she made a mistake. “We know you did it,” she told him. “It’s just a matter of time until we have the evidence to back it up.”

Stapleton leaned in even closer, and Lisbon forced herself not to move a muscle. “You’ll never find any evidence because I didn’t do it.”

“We’ll see about that.” Lisbon stood up. “This is an official interrogation now. I would advise you to cooperate.” Then she walked out of the room, shutting the door behind her with a bang.

“Where’s Jane?” she barked at Van Pelt.

Van Pelt jumped in her chair. “I don’t know, he’s not here yet,” she answered. “Do you want me to call him?”

“Yes,” Lisbon said. “Tell him to get his ass here right now, or else!”

Van Pelt looked at her with concern. “Sure thing, boss.”

To give herself a bit more time to think, Lisbon went into the kitchen to get a cup of coffee. She should have known better than to trust Jane. Stapleton had seen right through her, and she couldn’t get him to make a confession without Jane’s help.

“Hey.” Van Pelt had appeared behind her. “Is everything okay?”

“Not really, no,” Lisbon answered. “I want you to dig up everything you can find on Stapleton, no matter how insignificant it might seem. He’s not gonna walk out of here a free man.”

“Maybe you should ask Cho or Rigsby to help with the interrogation?” Van Pelt said carefully. “Maybe they could -?”

“No,” Lisbon interrupted her. “I have to do this on my own.”

She finished her coffee, then went back to the interrogation room. Before she stepped inside, she looked in through the glass door. Stapleton hadn’t moved. He was still leaning on the table, arms crossed, staring at his own reflection in the fake mirror with mild interest. If she wanted to get him, she needed to keep her cool, Lisbon knew that. And she had to stop relying on Jane to help her. It was obvious by now he wasn’t coming. She went back into the room.

“Mr. Stapleton, let’s start again.” Lisbon wasn’t smiling at him anymore. “Where were you last Monday night between midnight and three in the morning?”

“Asleep in bed, with my wife,” Stapleton answered, smirking at her. “She’d be happy to confirm it.”

“And where were you on August 27, 2010?”

“I have no idea, that was almost two years ago.”

“What about April 23, 2010?”

Stapleton shrugged.

“I can tell you where you were. You were committing murder.”

“And I’m assuming in the five minutes you just spent outside you found evidence to support this wild theory?”

Lisbon didn’t answer him.

“Hm,” he made. “Just as I thought. You don’t have any evidence. You just have the word of a psychologically unstable consultant who thinks he’s surrounded by serial killers.”

Again, Lisbon didn’t say anything, but her thoughts must have been written across her face, because Stapleton continued in a low voice. “I know you like him, Teresa. I saw you Friday, I noticed the way you looked at him. Don’t deny it.”

Lisbon felt rattled. She had no idea where this was coming from all of a sudden, but she knew it couldn’t end well if she let Stapleton continue to talk like this.

“I’m innocent, Teresa, I swear,” Stapleton went on. “Do you realize your accusations don’t make any sense? Why would I offer you my help? That would be crazy! No killer is proud enough to walk right into a police station and offer his help with the investigation. And frankly, your behavior is upsetting me. I thought you liked me, at least as a colleague of some sort. Why do you keep insisting I’m the bad guy here?”

“Jane -,” Lisbon started, but Stapleton raised his hand to shut her up.

“It’s always Jane with you, isn’t it?” he went on. “If he told you to jump out the window, you would do it, no questions asked. You’re in love with him, and it’s clouding your judgement.”

Was it that obvious? “I’m not in love with him.”

“You can keep telling yourself that, but it’s a lie.” Stapleton smiled at her sadly. “He probably made you think he’s in love with you too. But, believe me, Teresa, I’ve done a lot of research on sociopaths and psychopaths and people who manipulate others to get ahead. He fits that profile to a T.”

There was doubt growing in Lisbon – had she been right to trust Jane? She pushed those thoughts away immediately – she trusted him. She had to. There was no reason for him to fake his feelings for her, nothing he would gain from it. And not even Jane could pull a stunt like that; she knew from the way he looked at her his feelings for her were genuine. And manipulating her into thinking he was in love with her to catch Stapleton was so far-fetched, even for Jane, Lisbon almost laughed out loud at the thought.

“I know what you’re doing.” Lisbon tried to keep her voice calm. “It’s not working. You can’t distract me that easily.”

“He was supposed to be here with you today. But he’s not. Why not? Because he couldn’t care less about you.”

Now Lisbon had to laugh. “Even if that were true, he still cares about catching you.”

“Then where is he? Why didn’t he show up, even though you kept waiting for him? Is there something he isn’t telling you?”

This was the moment to get up and leave. It was obvious Stapleton was trying to manipulate her, so she would let him go. But she stayed. He had poured salt into an open wound just beginning to heal, and she wanted – needed – to prove him wrong.

“We’re perfectly capable of doing our jobs without Jane’s supervision. So just answer my question: Where were you on April 23, 2010?”

Stapleton reached out and took Lisbon’s hand into his. She pulled out if his grip immediately.

“Don’t touch me!”

“Teresa, he’s not the man for you, and the sooner you realize it, the better. He needs someone who is his equal, and you are many things, but you are not that.”

Lisbon snorted with disdain, but then she remembered Erica Flynn. She was like Jane – cunning, manipulative, and highly intelligent. She was everything Lisbon was not. And she was the perfect match for him. Lisbon had seen it when Jane had gone to great lengths to get Erica out of prison to help them with a case they could have easily solved on their own. And then Erica had escaped. Or maybe Jane had let her go. Maybe he was meeting with her whenever he told Lisbon he had an important appointment. Maybe he was with her right now, in bed, doing …

No, Stapleton couldn’t possibly know about Erica Flynn. He was getting to her, and she let him. Lisbon needed to put an end to this right now.

She stood up. “We’re gonna let you go, Mr. Stapleton. But please don’t leave the city. We might have some follow-up questions for you.”

Stapleton remained where he was. “Do you trust him, Teresa? _Really_ trust him? Would you put your life in his hands without a second thought?”

“Of course I would!”

“Now, come, we both know that’s not true. If you did, it wouldn’t have upset you so much that he stood you up this morning. He didn’t even call you to tell you he wasn’t coming.” It was a statement, not a question. “If you keep trusting him, you’re gonna get in trouble, Teresa.”

Lisbon walked over to the door, determined to put an end to this conversation. “I can look after myself.” She opened the door.

“We all have one weak spot, and yours is called Patrick Jane,” Stapleton called after her. “He’s you’re Achilles' heel. Don’t let him be.”


	9. Righteous Rage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Jane was up to while he should have been with Lisbon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is my least favourite chapter but I guess every writer has a chapter they don't vibe with.

There was a knock on the door of Jane’s motel room. He opened it carefully; he wasn’t expecting anyone, and he hoped it was only housekeeping because he had to hurry to get to Lisbon in time for the interrogation with Stapleton. But he found two men outside, one of them holding an FBI badge up in front of him.

“Mr. Jane?” the other one said. “You need to come with us.”

Jane flashed them a smile. “What’s this about?”

“Please, sir,” the agent with the badge insisted.

“I’m busy right now. Maybe later.” Jane tried to close the door, but the man who had spoken first wedged his foot in and pushed.

“You can come quietly, or we can arrest you,” he told Jane.

Jane’s thoughts were racing. He was late already, and Lisbon was waiting for him, but if he refused to cooperate, he would be arrested, and he knew they would legally be able to hold him for up to 48 hours. But if he came with them now, he might still be able to catch the end of the interrogation and Lisbon wouldn’t be too angry with him.

The FBI agents, however, thought he was taking too long to make up his mind. One gripped his arm, while the other pulled out a pair of handcuffs.

“Mr. Jane, you’re under arrest.”

Jane shook himself loose. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” he said quickly. “No need to use force.” The agent who was holding his arm let go. Jane straightened his jacket. “After you.”

They eyed him suspiciously, but when he followed them outside, their body language became more relaxed. Jane locked the door to his room and pulled out his phone.

“I just quickly need to make a call,” he told the agents. “You can go ahead; I’ll catch up with you.”

The one still holding the handcuffs grabbed the phone out of Jane’s hand. “No.”

“I have rights, you know,” Jane insisted, but they didn’t give him back his phone.

Jane followed the men downstairs and to their car without any further protest. He needed to get his phone back, call Lisbon and tell her the FBI had sort of arrested him. They needed to call off the interrogation with Stapleton. Jane knew Lisbon would be able to deal with the journalist on her own, it wasn’t that, but it irked him that he wouldn’t be there with her.

“I need to make a call, it’s very urgent,” he tried again, but they ignored him.

Jane had to climb into the back of the car while the FBI agents took the front seats. They continued to ignore him, even when he demanded to know where they were going and threatened to call the police on them. If Lisbon hadn’t been waiting for him, he wouldn’t have played along so nicely, but would have tried to provoke the agents into answering his questions.

They drove to the north of Sacramento to the office building the FBI occupied there. It was located in the middle of nowhere opposite an empty field. Jane had no idea how he was supposed to get back to downtown Sacramento from there and he guessed the FBI wouldn’t be nice enough to offer him a lift.

The two agents accompanied him inside where Darcy was waiting for him in the foyer, a file tucked under her arm. “Mr. Jane, how nice of you to join us,” she said, looking smug. The last time Jane had seen her, she had worn a long dress. Jane preferred the current outfit, a simple suit.

“If you wanted to see me so badly, you could’ve just called,” Jane tried to work his charm on her. “No need to arrest me.”

“I tried calling you. Often,” Darcy reminded him. “You ignored me.”

Jane decided to be honest with her. “Listen, I will talk to you, but there’s somewhere important I have to be right now –”

“I warned you I could have you arrested if you should continue to refuse to cooperate with us,” Darcy cut him off. “I gave you enough time to make up your mind.”

“I will cooperate with you, I’ll come back this afternoon,” Jane tried to convince her, “but, please, I need to be at work right now. We’re about to arrest the Red Road Killer.”

“Your colleagues will manage without you,” Darcy said with a shrug. “You will sit down with us and start talking about your relationship with Red John.”

“Can I at least call Lisbon?” Jane asked next.

“No,” Darcy denied him his request. “I know you – you’ll just pull a stunt to get out of this. No phone calls until you’ve spoken with us.”

“I’m sure you’re violating my rights.”

Darcy laughed once, sharply. “It uncomfortable to get a taste of your own medicine, isn’t it? Follow me.”

She turned around and walked down a grey corridor, and there was nothing Jane could do but follow her. His watch told him it was a quarter past nine. Lisbon must be wondering where he was, but the agents who had brought him still had his phone, so he couldn’t even text her. Darcy led him into an interrogation room. He looked at the plastic chairs and the table in the middle and thought Darcy was right: being on the side of the accused _was_ uncomfortable.

“Please, Mr. Jane, take a seat,” Darcy said, sitting down on one side of the table and putting the file down in front of her.

Jane pulled out the other chair and did the same. At least the two gorillas hadn’t followed them inside.

“Let’s get right to it then,” Darcy said. “We know Red John is still alive. We want to work with you to catch him.”

“Thanks, but I’m not interested.”

“May I ask why?”

“Why? You think I’m working with him and I don’t think anything I’ll say will convince you otherwise.”

“Try me,” Darcy challenged.

“Innocent until proven guilty,” Jane said with a shrug. “Can I go now?”

“Why do you insist on protecting Red John?” Darcy asked, ignoring his question. “You framed someone for Red John’s crimes, then killed him, and convinced the whole world Red John was dead. Surely you must see how that looks.”

“I might not have killed Red John, but I did kill a dangerous man,” Jane reminded her. “I think I did you a favor there.”

“You’re not answering my question.”

Jane considered his options. If he told Darcy the truth, he wouldn’t get out of here. They would arrest him immediately. But he wasn’t sure he could fool Darcy with a lie – she was very good at her job.

“I’m not protecting Red John,” he said finally. “I’m trying to get ahead of him. I’m hoping he’s going to make a mistake when I act like I believe he’s dead.”

“How’s that working out for you?” Darcy asked.

“I’m getting there,” Jane answered with a non-committal shrug.

“Look,” Darcy said, “I’m going to be honest with you, even though you’ve never been honest with us. It’s not looking too good for you. We know you’ve been meeting with people connected to Red John. We know you keep vanishing off the grid, and we have our suspicions why you’re doing it.”

“I’m going to be honest with you as well,” Jane cut in quickly. “I’m doing it to find Red John. He’s a dangerous man. The more people are involved in this, the messier it’s going to get. He has his disciples everywhere, it’s impossible to know who can be trusted. Do you understand that? If you keep messing with him, he’s going to kill you.”

“Yes, so you keep saying, but why hasn’t he killed _you_ yet? You, of all people, who came closer to catching him than anyone else before. Curious he’s not hurting you.”

Jane flinched as if she had punched him. Then he stood up. “Well, I did my best, but you people never learn.”

“We’re not done yet.”

“I’m done.”

“I could arrest you, you know.”

“On what grounds?”

“We have reason to believe you’re working with him.”

“Will you just let it go?”

“We’re currently reviewing evidence that would connect you to at least two of Red John’s murders.”

Jane sat back down. “What evidence?” When he had told Darcy to go ahead and prove that he was working for Red John, he had been certain she would never find anything connecting him to the serial killer. There couldn’t be any evidence, simply because he didn’t work for Red John.

“I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation with you. I just want you to know we’re following several leads and one of them is leading to you.”

“Then arrest me,” Jane dared her. “Go ahead, arrest me.” He held out his wrists as if he was waiting for handcuffs to close around them.

Darcy glanced at the door, then looked back at Jane. “The thing is, I believe the evidence was faked. That’s why I’ve been trying to reach you. I wanted to make sure my gut feeling was right. And talking to you now confirms it. I believe you’re innocent. But is there anyone you can think of who would profit from you being framed for murder?”

Jane was so surprised by this sudden turn of events he sat back down and stared at Darcy. “Yeah, sure,” he answered. “There are many people who would profit from me being locked up. Red John, for example.”

“You can’t help us then?” Darcy wanted to clarify.

“I could give you a list,” Jane offered, “but it’s gonna be a long one. Maybe if you told me who gave you the information … that could narrow it down.”

“And risk my job?”

“You’re already risking it by talking to me,” Jane pointed out.

Darcy smiled at him. “I’m not taking any more risks than are strictly necessary. But I’ll tell you what.” She stood up. “It’s rather hot in here, isn’t it? I think I need a glass of water. Is there anything I can get you?”

“Water, please,” Jane said.

He waited until Darcy had closed the door behind her, then opened the file lying on the table between them. It wasn’t difficult to find what he was looking for: a transcript of a statement given to the FBI by David Stapleton. In it, he talked about evidence he had found while doing research on the Red Road Killer that could prove Red John had an accomplice in the CBI, someone who was trying to protect him. Asked to provide a name, Stapleton had given Jane’s. The statement had yesterday’s date on it.

Jane couldn’t help but feel impressed. He knew Stapleton was a sociopath, but even he couldn’t have predicted this level of cunning. It also meant Stapleton had made a grave mistake. The more lies he wove, the easier it would be to get him. Once one lie was exposed, the others would come tumbling down around him like a house of cards.

“I have to leave,” Jane said as soon as Darcy got back with two glasses of water. “Right now.”

“We’re not done yet,” Darcy reminded him.

“Yes, we’re done.” Jane pushed past her into the corridor.

“Jane,” Darcy said with vigor but didn’t stop him.

Jane knew he wasn’t thinking straight, but he needed to see Stapleton right now and put an end to the whole affair. It wasn’t that late yet, if he hurried, he could still catch him with Lisbon and they would be able to arrest him, at least for feeding false information to the FBI. He still didn’t have his phone, but he didn’t need it to find his way back to Sacramento.

* * *

When Jane got back to Sacramento, it was already early afternoon. Even though he had finally found a nice old lady who had taken him with her in her car, it had taken him longer than anticipated to find a car in the first place. She dropped him off near the offices of the _California Observer_ because it was on the way to the niece she was visiting. Jane knew he should check in with Lisbon first (and he should definitely apologize to her), but now he was already here, he decided to see if Stapleton had been arrested first.

No one stopped him from taking the elevator up to the offices of the newspaper, and no one stopped him when he walked straight to the door of Stapleton’s office and knocked on it.

Jane was only mildly surprised when he heard Stapleton’s voice say, “Come in.”

Stapleton was sitting at his desk, reading glasses perched on the tip of his nose, head buried in a book. It was only when Jane cleared his throat that he looked up. If he was surprised by Jane’s sudden appearance, he didn’t let it show.

Jane knew there was no need to pretend anymore. “They didn’t arrest you then?”

Stapleton straightened his back and smiled the same smile he had used when he had come to meet Jane and Lisbon for the first time. “It’ll take more than a couple of baseless accusations to take me off the streets. As a journalist, I’m used to police harassing me.”

Jane sat down opposite Stapleton without waiting for an invitation to do so. “You were just lucky. Had I been there –”

Stapleton cut him off. “You wouldn’t have been able to change a thing. I’m innocent. Even you must have realized that by now.”

“You’re just a little man, so scared of being caught you need the FBI to do your dirty work for you.”

Stapleton’s face went dark. “I’m not the one who’s scared.”

“Please,” Jane said with a snort, “you are an open book to me. You know you made a mistake. You should never haven been so proud to offer us your _help_ ; this way, I was able to see right through you.”

“And you shouldn’t be so proud to think you can catch me,” Stapleton answered.

“It’s only a question of time. I will find something on you.”

Stapleton leaned back in his chair and eyed Jane suspiciously. “A single person cannot catch me. Just as it takes more than one person to catch Red John.”

“But I’m not alone,” Jane reminded him. “It’s really more of a group effort.”

Now it was Stapleton’s turn to snort. “I talked to Agent Lisbon today, I know you’re not a team anymore.”

This threw Jane momentarily off-track, but he caught himself almost immediately. He knew Stapleton was only saying this to distract him, but he still couldn’t help wondering what had happened between Lisbon and Stapleton. What had she told him? Maybe he should have followed his intuition and gone straight to Lisbon.

Stapleton used his silence to continue. “I was able to convince her of my innocence within a couple of minutes. She’s quite smitten with me, this one. Admit it, she was only interrogating me because she owed you a favor.”

Jane blinked slowly. He knew Stapleton was lying to him, trying to get him to make a mistake. “That doesn’t sound like Lisbon,” he said.

“You don’t know her as well as you think you do.”

Jane crossed his arms in front of his chest. “You can’t get into my head, so you can save us both the time and stop trying.”

“But I’m already in there, you’re beginning to doubt if you know Lisbon at all.”

Jane had to laugh. “No, I’m not.”

“Then why are you asking yourself if Lisbon let me go because I’m innocent or because I asked her on a date, and she was only too happy to accept?”

Jane smirked. Now he had proof Stapleton was reaching. He knew for a fact Lisbon would never go on a date with the journalist and nothing Stapleton said could convince him otherwise. “Sure, a date. You’re married.”

Stapleton shrugged. “So?”

“I know she'd never agree to go on a date with you.”

“What? Because you think she has feelings for you? Think again. You were supposed to be there for her today, but you weren’t. I don’t think she’ll be able to trust you again after this.”

“She trusts me,” Jane shot back, but he didn’t sound as convinced as he would have liked. Despite himself, he had let Stapleton into his head. He needed to believe Lisbon could trust him, needed to know she had his back. But their relationship was frail as it was, and Jane didn’t know how they could recover from him breaking his promise, even if he explained to Lisbon that the FBI had arrested him. He didn’t even know if Lisbon would believe him. Then it finally hit him: He should have gone straight back to her and not confront Stapleton. The longer he stayed away, the angrier Lisbon would be with him.

“You’ll realize I’m right,” Stapleton continued slowly. “Just as you’ll realize that you won’t be able to catch me. Just give it time.”

Jane stood up. It wasn’t like him to give up easily, but he knew now he should be getting back to Lisbon right away. “Oh, I’ll catch you, just as I caught Red John eventually. And you’re nothing compared to him.” Then he left, not looking back at Stapleton once.

“You might have been able to keep Lisbon safe from Red John, but you won’t be able to keep her safe from me,” Stapleton called after him.


	10. Wicked Snakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things have to get worse before they can get better ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story is slowly but surely approaching the big finale now ...

Lisbon got back to the office late. Most of the other agents had already left; it was only her and Cho still there. They had spent the day in San Francisco, talking to Stapleton’s former colleagues, looking for anything that would put him in connection to the Red Road Killer. It had been useless. All they had found was confirmation Stapleton really had made up a story, which had cost him his last job, but nothing more.

Lisbon had known from the start they wouldn’t have much luck. But she needed something to do after interrogating Stapleton, and she took Cho with her because he wouldn’t ask her how she was. And the trip to San Francisco had distracted her from her anger toward Jane, if nothing else. But now she was back in her office, all she could think about was how Jane had promised he would be there for her but had broken that promise. She checked her phone again, but there was still no call or text from Jane, and she refused to give him the satisfaction of trying to call him again.

After half an hour of paperwork, Lisbon put on her jacket, said good night to Cho, and walked toward the elevator. Even though she told herself she was looking forward to coming home, she dreaded being alone with her thoughts. On a whim, she decided to check Jane’s room upstairs to see if he was there. While she climbed up the stairs, she thought about what she would say to him if she should find him there and decided which was the best option to let him know how angry she was with him.

Lisbon knocked on the door to Jane’s attic room. She didn’t have to wait long for him to push it open. He looked exhausted and concerned, but when he saw it was Lisbon, he pulled her to him and hugged her tightly. Lisbon didn’t return the hug, but she let herself be engulfed by the feeling and smell of him and her anger wavered but wouldn’t vanish that easily.

Once Jane had let her go, Lisbon took a step back and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Where were you today? Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

“There’s a good explanation for everything, I swear,” Jane said, stepping aside. “Don’t you want to come in first?”

Lisbon walked past him and sat down in the chair he kept in front of his desk there. Then she waited for him to continue.

“I know you’re angry with me, and you have every right to be,” Jane continued, looking at her warily. Her cold behavior was affecting him, and she was glad it was. “I was with Darcy this morning; she wanted to talk to me about Red John.”

“So you were chasing after Red John without telling me once again,” Lisbon interpreted his explanation.

“I wanted to tell you, I asked them to let me call you at least ten times, but they refused,” Jane said quickly. “They picked me up in the morning and forced me to come with them. I told them we were about to catch the Red Road Killer and you were waiting for me, but they didn’t care.”

Lisbon snorted. “I thought you had promised to be honest with me.” She wanted to believe him, but she couldn’t bring herself to trust his explanation so easily.

Jane, who was still standing, looked as if he was about to walk toward Lisbon, but then thought better of it and sat down on his small bed. “I am being honest with you. Ask Darcy if you want.”

“I really needed your help today, Jane.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” He didn’t look at her while he said it, once again making Lisbon doubt the sincerity of his words.

“You can’t even look at me when you apologize,” she said with a sigh.

Jane raised his head. “I wanted to call you, they took away my phone, and they never gave it back. They threatened to arrest me, and I couldn’t very well let that happen. I thought if I played along, I would be able to get back to you in time. I mean, before you let Stapleton go.”

“ _Let_ him go?” Lisbon repeated.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

Lisbon felt anger grow in her stomach, bubbling like acid. “We didn’t have a choice,” she told him. “He saw through our plan right away. It took him about five minutes. And you were supposed to have been there, to have my back.”

“Lisbon, you need to trust me when I say I’m sorry,” Jane repeated. “I tried to be there for you, but it was out of my hands.”

Lisbon remembered what Stapleton had said to her that morning. It had been Stapleton talking, but he had only voiced the thoughts she had tried to keep away. _He couldn’t care less about you_. And here was evidence for that. If Jane really cared, he would have found a way to call her, he would have fought the FBI and anyone else standing in his way to be there for her. He was Patrick Jane, after all. But instead, he had, once again, decided Red John was more important than his work. More important than his relationship with Lisbon. She should have seen it coming, but it hurt her more than she was prepared to admit to herself. It wasn’t as if she had any right to ask him to care about her, not really, they had agreed on that. They were colleagues, nothing more. But a small part of her had hoped they could be more than that, if not officially, then at least in the way they treated each other.

“Do you even care about me?” she asked.

Jane looked at her, confusion written across his face. “Of course I care! You are very important to me.”

“You’re not doing a very good job of proving it,” Lisbon pointed out.

Jane opened his mouth, but then closed it again. He stood up and walked over to her but stopped an arm’s length from her. “And you’re not very good at trusting me,” he said quietly, watching her face carefully.

Lisbon felt her heart clench and her throat close. She knew he was right, she didn’t trust him, despite her best efforts, despite her resolution. She wanted to believe the FBI had arrested him, had taken away his phone, had kept him away from her, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Stapleton had told her, hadn’t he? Jane needed someone who was his equal, someone who would hurt him just as much as he hurt others. He needed someone strong, someone who could kiss him and not end up hopelessly in love with him afterwards. That was the right person for him, and not someone who let herself be distracted by her feelings for him.

“You broke your promise,” she said slowly.

“There was nothing I could do,” Jane insisted. “I was there for hours, and when I got back to Sacramento, it was already early afternoon.”

“And you came back here right away?” Lisbon asked. They hadn’t left for San Francisco until three in the afternoon. Why hadn’t she seen him come back?

“I went to see Stapleton,” Jane answered without hesitation. “I was close to his office, and I wanted to see if you had arrested him, so I went to see him first.”

“I see.” Lisbon stood up and started walking toward the door. She knew she was behaving like a grumpy teenager, but she couldn’t spend another minute with Jane, not after realizing how unimportant she was to him, not when Stapleton’s words were echoing through her head. _He couldn’t care less about you. He couldn’t care less about you. He couldn’t care less about you._

Jane grabbed her arm and held her back. “Lisbon, Stapleton went to the FBI and told them he had evidence connecting me to Red John. He arranged this. He knew we wanted to talk to him, so he fabricated some wild story and had me arrested this morning, so I couldn’t be there for you. He’s much more cunning and _much more_ dangerous than I thought. I underestimated him and I’m sorry for that.”

Lisbon laughed coldly and shook herself free from Jane’s grip. “Yeah, right.”

“Darcy showed me the transcript of his statement,” Jane went on. “And I know he said some things to you, too, so you would act like this with me. Can’t you see? He’s trying to keep us apart because he knows we can only catch him if we work together.”

Lisbon glared at him. “I was a good cop before you decided to show up here one day. I don’t need your help catching him, I can manage on my own.”

Jane smiled at her and it threw her off. “I know you’re a good cop,” he said. He sounded proud of her. “You’re brilliant, in fact. But there’s nothing wrong with asking for help.”

“I’m not falling for your compliments again. You’re just saying that to manipulate me. Well, news flash, I know what you’re trying to do, and I won’t let you.” Lisbon continued toward the door, but then Jane said something that made her pause again.

“What did he tell you, Lisbon?”

She whipped around. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Her voice rang through the room, bouncing off the walls, amplified by her anger. “Maybe next time be there and do your fucking job!”

Jane didn’t move a muscle, but said slowly, “Can’t you see what he’s doing? He filled your head with lies, he manipulated you, and now you’re like this.”

“Yes, of course,” Lisbon said sarcastically, her voice still raised, “because everything is a ploy to keep the great Patrick Jane from catching the bad guy. We’re all just pawns in the little games you love to play so much. Well, guess what, Jane, I refuse to be used like this any longer.”

For the first time, there was a crack in Jane’s façade. He smirked. “Good, because I’m not using you for anything, I never would.”

For some reason, his smirk that she usually loved so much, infuriated her even more. “You just did this morning. I was supposed to be bait for Stapleton, remember?”

Jane’s smile was gone. “You knew about that, you agreed to that,” he said calmly. “We made that decision together, as partners. And that’s what we are, _partners_.”

Lisbon hated how Jane could stay this calm. It was further proof he didn’t care about her because he wasn’t even trying to fight for her. “No, we’re not,” she said coldly. Two could play at the game of not caring for each other. “You’ve never seen me as your equal. And the sad thing is there was a time when I wanted to be nothing more than your partner, not just like this, but more. You know, after you asked me to wait for you, I was okay with that, I thought I could do it because it meant that, one day, we would be together. But it was a rejection, wasn’t it?” She had thought this before, but it was the first time she had said it out loud. It would explain why Jane kept pushing her away. And why she felt heartbroken. “You just didn’t want to lose me. You wanted to keep me around without any messy feelings getting in the way. But you failed miserably. You broke my heart, and yet you’re still not letting me in. You know what? Now I’m actually glad we’re not a couple. I could never be with someone who’s as selfish and manipulative as you, who doesn’t care about other people at all.”

Lisbon could see she had hurt him. She immediately wished she could take it back; she didn’t want to hurt him anymore. She hadn’t meant it, not really, and the sad look on his face hurt her more than his actions ever could. But before she could open her mouth to apologize, he said quietly, “Lisbon, I care about you the most out of everyone I know. I want to be there for you, I want to keep you safe. And I know I should have been there this morning to protect you from Stapleton. I know I –”

It wasn’t what she had wanted to hear from him. The need to apologize was gone. “You and your stupid savior complex!” she shouted. “ _I need to keep you safe, Lisbon. Be careful, Lisbon, Red John might kill you if I’m not there to protect you_ ,” she mocked him. “It’s always about you and your childish fantasies. You just want to be a martyr!”

Jane ignored her. “Lisbon, I didn’t mean to break your heart,” he said calmly. “I know now that I did, but I didn’t think you would have such strong feelings for me that I could do so much damage.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Lisbon’s voice sounded cold, even to her own ears. “You’re not the right man for me, I realize that now.”

“How do you mean?” Jane asked carefully.

“I’m taking it back.” She had said it before she could stop herself. “I won’t wait for you. You don’t have to tell me about Red John anymore. I couldn’t care less if something happened to you.”

Jane turned away from her. “You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do,” Lisbon said with emphasis.

“Then maybe it’s better like this,” Jane continued. “I was scared you might have feelings for me, and I also know it’s partly my fault. I shouldn’t have acted toward you the way I did. But this is good – I can’t have you have feelings for me, it’s dangerous. And it makes you weak.”

Lisbon’s jaw tightened. “You know, Stapleton said the exact same thing to me. You’re very similar.”

Jane laughed coldly. “See? Everyone can see it.”

“What about you? Do you have feelings for me?” Lisbon needed to know. She remembered how he had looked at her on Friday, how deep the love was she had seen on his face, but she needed to _hear_ it from him as well to believe it.

“That’s not the point,” Jane evaded the question. “But if you need to ask, then it’s better you think I don’t.”

“Yeah, you’re right, this _is_ better,” Lisbon said, but she could feel her eyes sting with tears. “Maybe you and Stapleton are right – I’m too close to you to be objective and it’s affecting my work. As of this moment, you’re officially off the Red Road Killer case.”

“Fine,” Jane said coldly.

“And I’m going to ask Wainwright to have you moved to another team in the morning,” Lisbon continued.

“Fine,” Jane repeated.

“Goodbye, Jane.” This time, Lisbon turned around for good and walked out of the attic without Jane stopping her. While she went, she angrily wiped away tears running down her cheek. Had she looked back, she would have seen Jane do the same.

* * *

Sitting in the safety of her car, Lisbon had time to think about what had just happened between her and Jane. She was still very angry with him, but she knew this was no excuse for the way she had talked to him. Some parts of it were true – she didn’t want to wait for him, she wanted to be with him now or never. If he couldn’t offer her that, she would have to let him go. But she was scared of her own feelings for him and how strong they were. That was part of the reason she kept pushing him away. And now she knew she had been right to be afraid because it hurt too much.

Lisbon wondered briefly if Jane felt the same – was he scared as well? Was that the reason why he shut her out? It seemed like something he would do, but she couldn’t be sure because, as it turned out, she didn’t know him as well as she thought she did. Lisbon gripped the steering wheel tight and started the car. Thinking about him hurt too much; maybe in a couple of weeks, when she hadn’t seen him for a while, she would be able to analyze what had happened between them without her chest constricting in pain.

She drove carefully because she knew she wasn’t a very good driver when she was upset. It took her longer to get home than she would have liked, but she got there safely and without bursting into tears and that was good enough for her. Once she was inside her house, she avoided going into the kitchen because she was sure the memories connected to this place would make her break down. Instead, she went straight for the shelf where she kept a bottle of scotch and poured herself a glass. She let herself fall onto her couch and sipped the drink, trying to push away any thoughts of Jane, but he was all she could think about.

Lisbon thought their relationship was stronger than this. She had been sure it would be able to survive anything. It was shocking to see how fragile it really was – one kiss had been enough to break them. But then she remembered Stapleton’s interrogation; she had seen right through him and the way he was trying to manipulate her, she had even told him so. And yet she had let him in and had laughed at Jane when he had told her Stapleton had manipulated her. No, she couldn’t put the blame on Stapleton or Jane – this was her fault and hers alone. _She_ didn’t trust Jane enough. _She_ had let Stapleton in. _She_ had told Jane she didn’t want to wait for him. _She_ had said she didn’t have feelings for him, even though it was a lie. And _she_ kept pushing their relationship to a breaking point.

The first glass was empty, and Lisbon poured herself another one. She would go to Jane in the morning and apologize. Again, she went back to Saturday morning and remembered how good it had felt to be close to him, how everything had come natural, the kisses, the teasing, them being together. Lisbon had never felt like this with a man before, she had always kept her guard up, but Jane had gotten her to lower it and now she knew what she had been missing. She was suddenly overcome with a feeling of emptiness and longing and then she realized it meant she was missing him. She wanted to hold him and be held by him, she wanted to bury herself in his embrace and never let go again. And the only way to achieve this was to go back to him right now and apologize, take everything back, and tell him how she felt about him. Lisbon wasn’t foolish enough to believe it would fix things between them, but she also couldn’t live with how much she’d hurt him. She did care if something were to happen to him, and she wanted to believe that he didn’t think her feelings made her weak.

Lisbon had always seen herself as someone who had their feelings under control, who could make rational decisions with her head instead of her heart. And Jane had gone right ahead and destroyed this part of her personality she had worked so carefully on building up and maintaining. They needed to talk about this right now, because as much as she needed to apologize to him, she also needed to hear his apology to her.

Lisbon stood up to get dressed but was interrupted by her phone ringing. She grabbed for it immediately, hoping it was Jane calling her. But it was Rigsby.

“Yes?” she asked. She wasn’t ready for another case, especially not after two big glasses of scotch.

“Boss, it’s Jane.”

There was a sinking feeling in her stomach. What had he done now? And was she responsible for it?

“He was arrested,” Rigsby went on. “They have evidence linking him to Red John. It’s the FBI; they say he committed some of Red John’s murders for him.”

Lisbon stood there in the middle of her living room, frozen like an ice statue. She tried to form a coherent thought in spite of the confusion she felt. “I’ll be right there. Stall them for twenty minutes. Don’t let them take Jane.”

“He’s in a holding cell for now,” Rigsby informed her. “But I don’t know how long they’ll keep him there – Wainwright and Darcy want to interrogate him right away.”

Lisbon sprinted to the front door. She grabbed her keys and opened it.

“You should hurry,” Rigsby went on. “He keeps asking for you.”

“Fifteen minutes,” Lisbon told him. “Tell him I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

She hung up and went to lock her door, when she heard someone clear their throat behind her. Slowly, she turned around, the keys still in her hand, and found herself face to face with Stapleton.

“Good evening, Agent,” he said, his winning smile on his lips not reaching his eyes. “Is this a bad time?”

Lisbon shuddered. “Yes, it is,” she told him. His presence at her home unnerved her. Where had he gotten her address?

Stapleton took a few steps toward her, and Lisbon retreated until her back was pressed against her front door. He looked completely different than he had done in the morning. He was still wearing the same clothes, he even had his satchel with him, but there was a look in his eyes that made Lisbon want to run, and she almost never felt like this. For the first time she saw him for what he really was: the Red Road Killer.

“This won’t take long,” Stapleton assured her.

He grabbed her arm forcefully and she struggled against his grip, but it was useless. His hand came up and pressed a handkerchief against her face. It smelled like chloroform. The world went dark after that.


	11. His Back to the Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Where’s Lisbon?” Jane asked them, but they didn’t reply, they just watched as he was pushed past them. “I want Lisbon,” he said with emphasis. “I won’t say a word until she gets here!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bet you guys thought I had forgotten all about this fanfic - and you're right! I finished this chapter in the middle of May and just forgot to upload it. Anyway, it's also the end of the second part of this story, just five more chapters to go.

Jane stood up from his bed and walked over to the window. It was almost midnight, and the lights of the city were slowly going out one by one. Soon it would be dark outside, as dark as it could get in a big city. If he would have had his phone, he would have try to call Lisbon, even though he wasn’t sure she would pick up. It was late, and she was probably asleep. And if she wasn’t, he was the last person she would want to talk to.

That he had called her weak had only been the most recent mistake in a long line of failures. He had only said it because, in that moment, he had wanted to hurt her as much as she had hurt him by taking back her promise. Lisbon was the strongest person he knew. And she wouldn’t allow herself to have feelings for Jane if it meant her work would be affected. But nevertheless – Jane was sure she was in love with him, just as sure as he was in love with her. He wasn’t blind, he had noticed she always asked him to come with her to crime scenes and to talk to the victims' families, more than anyone else in the team. He sometimes caught her looking at him in a way that made him feel safe and trusted, and he also knew she was aware whenever he couldn’t help but stare at her. Or maybe it was just wishful thinking on his part. After all, she had told him, hadn’t she?

_Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not the right man for me, I realize that now._

It had hurt to hear his own thoughts spoken out loud by the woman he loved, but it was for the best. This way, Lisbon would be safe from Red John and it wouldn’t devastate her quite as badly if he shouldn’t survive his duel with the man he had hunted for almost ten years. Was it selfish of him to still want her to love him back? Yes, because he could never give her the life she deserved, not now anyway. And he was sure when this was over, their friendship would be too broken for them to move beyond it. After all, Lisbon still didn’t trust him, and he found himself unable to let her in completely. That wasn’t the best foundation to build a relationship on.

But Jane wanted to save their friendship, if nothing else. Once again, he thought about calling her. He could go downstairs and use Cho’s phone, or Rigsby’s or Van Pelt’s. He could leave her a voice message, telling her he was sorry, and maybe she would come to him tomorrow morning so he could apologize in person. It wasn’t much, but it might be enough for her not to kick him off the team. Maybe he could cook breakfast for her again, she had liked that. It would give him the opportunity to bring back some of the magic of Saturday morning. Or he could take her out to dinner in a public place where she wouldn’t be able to shout at him so easily and they could talk about their feelings for a change instead of running away from them. 

Then he replayed the part of their conversation in his mind where Lisbon had accused him of having to be a martyr. And maybe she was right; after all, hadn’t he thought he could save her from Stapleton when it was obvious she didn’t need anyone to save her? It might be the same with Red John, even though Red John was much more dangerous than the journalist. But Lisbon could take care of herself. Someone assuming she needed protection was insulting to her. Jane would have laughed at any other man trying to keep Lisbon out of harm’s way, but he had done the same. No wonder she was so angry with him. No wonder she had stormed off after he had called her weak. Stapleton must have said all these things to her, and Jane had repeated them to push her away. It wasn’t surprising she didn’t trust him.

He knew he had made a mistake. It wasn’t easy for him to admit that because he usually didn’t make mistakes, but he shouldn’t have treated Lisbon this way. He had said he didn’t want to be with her right now to keep her out of harm’s way, but by doing so, he had hurt her anyway, and he kept on doing so to keep her away. So she had finally snapped and pushed _him_ away for a change. Maybe, if they had decided to give this a try, Stapleton wouldn’t have been able to get to them like this. Jane needed to tell Lisbon right now how sorry he was, and make it up to her by finally letting her in. There was no point in shutting her out anymore, he realized that now: He wanted to be with her. He just hoped he wasn’t too late, and she still wanted to be with him as well.

Jane slipped on his jacket and was about to leave for Lisbon’s house, when he heard a strange sound outside the door to his room. Before he was able to place it, there was a loud bang and suddenly the door was open and there were men in his room, dressed in black, pointing guns and lights at him. He tried to make out details, but it was too bright and too loud, and he couldn’t even count how many people there were to begin with. He heard the words, “FBI!” and “Get down on your knees!” and he followed the order, raising his hands above his head, trying to keep them from shaking. After all, he had witnessed an arrest often enough to know the drill.

“Don’t shoot!” he shouted back, trying to ignore the men and the guns and the lights, trying not to think about how one unlucky slip could end his life.

One of the agents grabbed Jane’s arms and pulled them down behind his back. The cold metal of handcuffs snapped shut around his wrists, and the agent pulled him up by his collar. Jane stood up ungainly, fear making his heart race. He found himself in a situation he was unable to control, and it cost him everything not to lose it. All he could think about was Lisbon and how much he wished she was here right now because she would know exactly what to do. But when he was led outside, he only found himself face to face with Darcy and Wainwright.

“Where’s Lisbon?” Jane asked them, but they didn’t reply, they just watched as he was pushed past them. “I want Lisbon,” he said with emphasis. “I won’t say a word until she gets here!”

But then he was around the corner, stumbling down the steps to the elevator. Jane only saw Cho, who had come out of the bullpen to see where all the noise was coming from, confusion written all over his face. No one said a word, and there was nothing left for him to do than to let himself be led to wherever they were taking him.

* * *

They brought Jane straight to the basement and locked him into one of the holding cells there. Now he was sitting on the floor, his back against the cool wall, his hands folded in his lap. His suit was rumpled from where the FBI agents had grabbed his arms. At least they had taken off the handcuffs again, but his wrists were still sore from where the metal had scraped against his skin. His body hurt, his head hurt too, but he pushed the feelings of despair and discomfort away; he needed to keep his cool if he wanted to get out of this situation. But he also knew he needed Lisbon’s help to make this go away.

It was dark in the basement. The only source of light was a naked bulb outside the cell. Its light barely reached Jane. He focused on it anyway, trying to put himself in a light trance to keep his mind from running in circles. But no matter how hard he tried, they were always coming back to Lisbon. So he waited. He waited for a sign of Lisbon. That was all he cared about.

But Lisbon was nowhere to be found. She hadn’t been with Darcy and Wainwright, she hadn’t watched him being led away, and she also wasn’t coming to see him now. He knew her, he knew – hoped – she would put their differences aside to help him, but he was still frightened she was so angry with him she wouldn’t want to see him, not even under these circumstances. Maybe she even believed the charges against him, whatever they were and was keeping away from him because she couldn’t look him in the eyes.

Even though no one had come to talk to him yet, Jane suspected what this was about. Stapleton had surely fabricated further evidence linking him to Red John, and the FBI had arrested him on those grounds. Jane knew he was innocent, of course, but he wasn’t sure anyone would believe him. Even though Darcy had claimed just this morning she didn’t think he was working for Red John, she was a good agent and wouldn’t ignore incriminating evidence against him. Wainwright was looking for an excuse to get rid of Jane anyway, he knew that much. The only person who would definitely believe he was innocent hadn’t come to see him yet either.

Jane heard how a door was opened and closed further away, followed by footsteps. He stood up, straightening his jacket as best as he could; then he walked to the bars, waiting for whoever it was to come around the corner. He could tell it wasn’t Lisbon – he would recognize her steps anywhere.

It was Darcy.

“Where’s Lisbon?” Jane asked immediately, even before Darcy had reached his cell.

“I made a mistake this morning,” Darcy started slowly. She stood straight, head held high, her hands folded behind her back. But she looked exhausted. “I’m making up for it now. I shouldn’t have let you go, and I definitely shouldn’t have told you who gave us that statement linking you to Red John.”

“I told you, I’m not saying anything until Lisbon gets here,” Jane insisted.

“I’m gonna tell you how this is going to go,” Darcy continued, ignoring him. “In a few minutes we will interrogate you, and if we don’t like what we hear, you will be transferred to jail.”

“I’m only talking to Lisbon.”

Darcy shook her head in what Jane could only interpret as disappointment and walked away.

“Make sure Lisbon is there,” Jane called after her.

Then he was alone again in the dark with his thoughts. But before he could think more about what was taking Lisbon so long, he heard the door being opened again. This time, it was more than one pair of feet. Jane couldn’t tell if one of the people approaching was Lisbon, and he made the mistake of getting his hopes up because when they walked around the corner, it was just Wainwright and two FBI agents. Jane’s heart sank. One of the agents unlocked the door while the other told Jane to stand facing the wall, his wrists behind his back. Wainwright supervised the situation.

His wrists back in handcuffs, Jane was led from the cell to one of the interrogation rooms they had in the basement. He didn’t even get to be in a nice one upstairs; instead, they had decided to keep him in a dark, cold one with no daylight and no chance of Lisbon walking by accidentally and seeing him. Darcy was already waiting for him, sitting at one side of the table, and watched as one of the agents locked Jane’s handcuffs to a small metal hook. It reminded Jane of this morning where he and Darcy had been in a similar situation, but he also had to recognize that this situation was much more hopeless.

“That’s not necessary,” Jane told him, but was ignored. “You could at least tell me what’s going on.”

The two agents left the room, closing the door behind them. Wainwright remained standing in one of the corners, arms crossed in front of his chest, glaring at Jane.

“Oh, come on, this is getting ridiculous,” Jane complained and smiled innocently, trying to move his arms.

“You can drop the act now,” Wainwright told him. “It won’t do you any good and it will save us a lot of time.”

Jane decided it was no use to tell them he wasn’t putting on an act, but he genuinely had no idea what was going on. Instead, he decided to go back to his original tactic. “You can save more time if you get Lisbon here right now.”

“Lisbon was informed,” Darcy told him. She didn’t look at him directly when she said it, “but she doesn’t have clearance to sit in on this interrogation.”

“That’s a shame because I’m only going to talk to her.” If he could have, Jane would have crossed his arms in front of his chest, just like Wainwright. Instead, he had to remain in the awkward position he was in, which didn’t make him look as stubborn and serious as he wanted.

“You don’t get to choose who you talk to. And if you don’t cooperate with us, we can make your life very miserable,” Wainwright cut in.

Jane chuckled. “Please, I’m not scared of you. Or the FBI,” he added. “Whatever it is you think I've done, I know I’m innocent. So, do your worst.”

“You’re here because we have evidence that you killed two people,” Darcy explained, “and Red John paid you to do it.”

Jane, who had seen something like this coming, managed to keep his face blank. “Let me guess – a journalist by the name of David Stapleton gave you this information.”

“How does he know about your sources?” Wainwright snapped at Darcy.

“You do realize, of course, that Stapleton is the Red Road Killer,” Jane went on. “He’s trying to frame me for crimes I didn’t commit before I can put him away for his.” He looked at Darcy while he said it, knowing Wainwright hated to be ignored.

“You’re just making that up, so we’ll let you go,” Wainwright said coldly. He moved closer to the table, trying to get Jane’s attention. “If he is the Red Road Killer, why hasn’t your unit arrested him yet?”

“Ask Lisbon,” Jane said, his eyes on his hands. “She’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

“Where were you on July 28, 2011?” Darcy asked calmly, sensing the tension in the room.

“I don’t remember,” Jane answered immediately.

“You remember _everything_ ,” Wainwright said with emphasis. “Don’t play dumb.” His fists were on the table now and he was leaning close to Jane, who still acted as if Wainwright was invisible.

“I really don’t remember,” Jane insisted, “but Lisbon might know. And she might be able to help me remember.”

Wainwright sighed with frustration and straightened his back. “Agent Darcy, a word, please?” he said, his voice shaking with repressed anger.

They stepped outside and left Jane alone in the room. Jane took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, then repeated the process. He needed to remain calm if he wanted to get out of this situation tonight. They couldn’t hold him here; it was obvious the so-called _evidence_ was fake. He wondered what it could be. Then he remembered Stapleton had given him a glass of water when he had visited him the day before. Stapleton had his DNA and his fingerprints and could do with them as he pleased. But Jane refused to believe that the FBI could be fooled this easily, especially by a journalist who had lost his job because of a story he had made up. It was obvious they would have to release him soon, so long as Wainwright didn’t snap and insisted he remained locked up.

The only thing Jane couldn’t explain was why Stapleton had decided to have him arrested _now_. They weren’t any closer to closing the case, vital evidence was still missing, and they had no actual proof of Stapleton’s guilt that would hold up in a court of law. Why not wait until they were closer to catching him and he had to make an escape? It didn’t make sense. Stapleton had to have an ulterior motive for his actions, and that Jane couldn’t figure out what it was frustrated him more than being locked in this room. He needed Lisbon; she would be able to help him figure out what it was. The most important thing right now was to convince Darcy and Wainwright to let him see Lisbon, so she could get him out of this, and they could finally put Stapleton behind bars.

He had more time than he had anticipated to come up with a plan on how to achieve this. Darcy and Wainwright didn’t come back. Jane, who still had his watch, at least, noticed they let him wait for half an hour, then another one, and another one, until it was half past two in the morning, and he was beginning to drift off. They were probably just debating whether they should let him go or not. Jane imagined Lisbon had finally arrived and was fighting for him. It wouldn’t be long now until she came down to see him. She would unlock the door fast, then his handcuffs and ask, worriedly, if they had hurt him. Then she would shout at Wainwright and Darcy, telling them they were idiots, and they would let her talk to them like that because they knew it was true. Then Lisbon would tell Jane they had to hurry to catch Stapleton and they would leave to arrest the journalist.

When the door was unlocked, Jane woke up from his dream with a start. But it wasn’t Lisbon standing in the doorway and he felt his heart sink. It was another nameless FBI agent, and he saw two more behind him. The agent unlocked his handcuffs and pulled him out of the chair, then led him along the corridor and toward the elevator.

“What’s happening now?” Jane asked, feeling exhausted. He just wished they would finally decide where they wanted to keep him locked up.

“You’re being transferred to jail,” the agent told him.

Jane stopped. “Now, wait a minute,” he started, but the agent just pulled him along, and Jane had to follow if he didn’t want them to use force.

They walked him out onto the parking lot in front of the CBI building, which was very busy despite the early hour. There were at least ten FBI agents, heavily armed, dressed in black bullet-proof vests, their faces half hidden in shadow. Further away, Jane even spotted a camera team who was trying to get footage of his arrest. It would make the morning news. And they were giving them what they wanted, as they pulled Jane toward a dark van. But then Jane noticed Cho, Van Pelt, and Rigsby who were standing about ten yards to the left of the car. When they spotted him, they started to walk toward him, but were stopped by more FBI agents.

“Jane!” Rigsby called, waving his hand to get his attention. “Stapleton has Lisbon!”

Jane’s heart stopped beating. His hands felt numb, his feet too, and he had to struggle to keep standing. The world around him went quiet, as if someone had wrapped everything in cotton. He even stopped feeling the hands of the FBI agent on his arm. Fear spread from the top of his head down his entire body like ice cold water from a shower. He felt sick, as if he was about to throw up, even though his brain wasn’t yet done processing the information he had just received. Just once before had he felt this scared, and he hadn’t expected to feel like this ever again. The sheer power of the emotion made him halt, and he helplessly tried to catch his breath. For the first time in almost ten years, he didn’t have his body under control anymore as he slowly drifted toward a panic attack. He had failed to protect the woman he loved. Again.

Then everything came back twice as loud, as he decided there was still time. She wasn’t dead yet, she couldn’t be. Jane tried to pull himself free, but another agent came to help the one who was already pulling him along, and they tried to restrain him. Jane refused to let himself be dragged off to some prison where he had no chance of helping Lisbon, so he continued to fight both agents. And he was winning until one of them punched him in the pit of his stomach, knocking all the air out of his lungs, and making him fall to his knees, while the other one used this opportunity to press his knee into Jane’s back and hold him down against the hard concrete. In a desperate attempt to get any information, Jane called out to Rigsby.

“Where is she?”

“We don’t know,” Rigsby answered. “She isn’t picking up her phone. A neighbor saw her drive off with a man who fits Stapleton’s description. She looked unconscious.”

“Find her!” he shouted, as the FBI agents pulled him to his feet again. “Don’t wait for me, I’ll get out of this somehow.” He tried to make a run for it but found himself face to face with the barrel of a gun.

They had reached the van. The two agents pushed him inside, and he lost sight of Rigsby and the others when they closed the doors. Everything went dark, except for his thoughts. They were bright and hot and painful, like staring into a white light for too long. Everything hurt, not just the obvious injuries from the fall he had taken and the punches he had received. Fear for Lisbon was taking over his rational mind, and he slowly felt himself lose control, the façade he had built up over years crumbling to dust before his eyes. He couldn’t form one coherent thought, let alone a plan to get out of this situation. And for once, he let emotion take over, surrendering completely to it.

There was just one more thought growing in his mind like a wave on the verge of crashing against the shore with so much force it couldn’t be stopped by barriers or roads or vegetation. Stapleton’s ulterior motive. He needed Jane to be out of the way, so he could focus on his fourth victim: the woman who was trying to catch him. The woman working with the journalist investigating the Red Road Killer. If done right, it would be Stapleton’s best story yet. And Jane would be nothing more than a footnote in another tragic case, too stubborn, too blind, to see the obvious. It was nothing more than history repeating itself, this time even without the help of Red John.


End file.
